


Crawling Back To You

by Transformatron



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Woobies (I solemnly swear), Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), Rating May Change, Redemption, Slow Burn, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transformatron/pseuds/Transformatron
Summary: The tale of how Starscream – Air Commander of the Decepticon Army, Lord Megatron's right-servo mech – was seduced by the Autobot rhetoric, and became (after much denta-gnashing and pede-kicking) a halfway-decent bot.





	1. In which Starscream is saved

**Author's Note:**

> **Me: Damn, I wish there was a Primeverse fic that redeemed Starscream slowly, gradually, and maybe even realistically, after the end of Predacon Rising.**  
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> **Me: Wait, I'm.... an author.........**
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> ****

If you were the sort of insufferable mech who _always looked on the bright side_ , you might suggest that death was peaceful.

Imagine it! No more scrabbling for power; no more Predacons using him as their personal chew-toy; no more Autobots scuppering his plots…

No more Megatron.

Just oneness, stillness. Spiritual serenity.

Why, when you described it like that, death almost sounded _relaxing._

Unfortunately, melding with the Allspark would also result in the disintegration of his winning personality. While Starscream admitted a minor bias, he _had_ grown quite attached to it, over the millennia.

Plus, there was the small issue that although death itself might be painless, the actual _process_ of dying was anything but.

  

 

* * *

 

 

 “Come now,” whined the traitor. “Could you stop screeching? Honestly. Such ingratitude! I save your sorry spark, and what do I get for it? One hell of a mechgraine.”

A mechgraine? A _mechgraine?_

How dare he complain of such trivial twinges when Starscream was spread across the Darkmount throne room, a study in tragedy!

His legs had snapped clean across the joint; his cockpit was singed and blackened. And, most egregious of all, the Predacons (cretaceous cretins!) had clawed his wings to shreds, which – in a twist of cruel cosmic irony – now looked remarkably similar to the feathers of avians, back on that filthy little mudball they called _Earth_. It was a Primus-blessed miracle that he continued to function!

There was only one way to express his offence. Starscream howled louder.

“Argh!” Knock Out would’ve clapped both servos over his audials if they weren’t buried to the wrist in Starscream’s innards. “I’m trying to _help_ you, here!”

“Scrap! Would you cut his vocals already?” Of all the Autobots who’d stormed the Predacons’ keep, Arcee had been most reluctant to do the mechly thing and save an old foe from his disembowelment, ravishment, and devouring (not necessarily in that order). Even now, as she helped restrain Starscream on the energon-spattered floor, she sneered at him as if he was a piece of old shareware.

Starscream did his best to return the sentiment. As he was currently short one optic, he feared that his glare didn’t have the desired effect.

Knock Out wriggled both servos deeper into Starscream’s chassis. Arcee, in charge of pinning his mangled leg-struts, cringed from the shrillness of the resultant wail.

“Yes, yes,” said Knock Out, tetchily. “It _hurts._ What do you expect me to _do_ about it?”

Starscream didn’t know. _He_ was the doctor.

His mangled faceplate must’ve conveyed his frustrations, for Knock Out shook his head.

“It’s not as easy as it seems! We didn’t exactly expect to find you here, much less alive. I’ve given you as many painkillers from my field kit as I can risk without overloading you processing cortex, but I don’t have the _equipment_ here to put you into stasis and _you’re_ too much of a paranoid _clanger_ to activate your own stasis-lock, and frankly, I'm baffled that you haven't off-lined already! Now - Scrap!“

He pulled one servo from Starscream's slashed tubing. The other stayed wedged inside him. It pressed to a point of raw, pure agony, as if a fire burned in Starscream’s guts.

Starscream’s processer bleated, warnings popping up one after another across his cracked HUD.

Danger, danger. Rupture in the tanks.

Ah – that fool! That thrice-rusted plugport of an _Autobot convert_ had injured him further!

Starscream knew it! This was no rescue mission!

Knock Out made impatient come-hither motions to the green Wrecker, the third fool in this jolly band. “Cauteriser! Now!”

“Huh?” 

The big lug nursed a roasted leg joint, courtesy of Darksteel. His metal had warped in the heat. Starscream could see his own reflection through his glitching, fraying vision; his screaming mouth, stretched around Bulkhead's half-melted pede, looked ready to swallow him whole. 

Knock Out shook his helm. “Blowtorch!”

Dammit, he didn't want to make that fire in his fuel-tanks literal! Obviously, the Autobots intended to torture him out here, far from the restraining frowns of their teammates, before deactivating him themselves.

“No, no – Knock Out! If you have any – argh! – any compassion left in your spark!”

Knock Out paused. A bead of Starscream’s energon clung to his chin. For once, his finish didn’t seem to be his chief concern.

He looked down at Starscream. Battered, broken, pathetic. And, for the fleetest of moments, he looked _sad._

“Do you want to live?”

Bulkhead tensed. “Not sure Magnus'd be happy with you offing him, Doc.”

“I’m sure he’d handle the grief,” came Arcee’s deadpan reply. Knock Out ignored them both.

“Do you want to live?” he repeated.

And Starscream…

Starscream swallowed, his glossa working thickly in his throat.

Wasn’t that the question?

No master. No wings. No trine.

Oh, he'd argued with those idiots, back in the olden, golden days of Decepticon dominance over the skies. But Starscream was, as TC so eloquently put it, _naturally abrasive._ Like a mechfoliation stone. He snapped at _everyone_. The only true measure of his affections was whether he tried to offline them afterwards.

He'd never done that, not to TC and Warp. But his trinemates were at one with the Allspark now, their cadavers floating through deepest space.

The Decepticon faction had fragmented. Knock Out turned traitor, Arachnid was gone. Shockwave remained a fugitive, while Megatron kept spouting codswallop about _losing his taste for tyranny_ _,_ and Soundwave had vanished, as if sucked into another dimension.

The goals that had lured Starscream as a mechling, which once seemed so _noble_ , had taken barely three millennia to devolve into mindless self-advancement. Hollow ambition. The magma-hot burst of victory, followed by the slow, sinking realisation that it would never be enough; that even if he ruled the galaxy, he would still find himself casting his optics at the next sparkle of stars on the horizon…

Truthfully, what did Starscream have left?

And yet, life was returning to Cybertron. The Well of Allsparks glowed again.

Forget causes. Forget grudges, old feuds, the spilled energon and rust of battles past.

Wouldn’t it be worth something, anything, to fly through the spires of Vos?

Starscream swallowed, tasting energon. He nodded.

Knock Out’s eyes blazed bright as the blowtorch in his fist. The blue bead gathered on his cheekplate, forming a viscous drip, and fell – _plink!_ – onto Starscream’s optic, smearing his halved field of vision. Knock Out leaned in, close enough to kiss.

“Put yourself into stasis,” he snarled. “ _Now._ And for Primus's sake, stop being so  _dramatic._ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Starscream didn’t take orders from _anyone._

Except Megatron. And the Predacons, when he had no other choice. And his enemies, of course, whenever he was captured – but then he was merely biding his time! And yes, before he became Winglord, he'd bent knee to Vos's sovereign queen... But regardless, the point persisted.

He didn’t take orders from _Knock Out._  

Thus, it was with no small irritation to come online to the blissful absence of flashing HUD pop-ups, and realize this was exactly what he’d done. 

“Morning, sunshine. I’d say ‘good to see you up’, but I think we both know I’d be lying.”

Starscream made the monumental effort of turning his head. Knock Out had repaired his optics. He’d made a shoddy job of it – the colours seemed skewed to the blue end of the spectrum. Still, nothing some tinkering couldn’t fix.

As it was, the malfunction made the young bot before him – war-built, practically a newspark, for pit's sake! – merge all the better into the shadows. But then again, of course, merging was Smokescreen’s speciality. 

(Not in _that_ way. Primus, he was far too young.) 

Starscream’s gaze trekked to the phase-shifter locked around the mech’s wrist. His lip mesh curled off his dentae.

If it hadn’t been for this whippersnapper, he might’ve kept the Apex Armour to himself. Oh, it was ghastly from an aesthetic perspective – that amount of bulk did his streamlined frame and fighting style no justice. But unlike a certain doctor, Starscream also prized things for their _functionality_. It was wearing that armour that he had gotten his first lick of power in some time, and by Primus, had it tasted sweet.

Right now, he mostly tasted stale blow-back from his cycling ex-vents. How long had he been asleep?

“If you’re here to mock me,” he grated, “don’t bother. I doubt you could make me feel _more_ pitiful.”

“Always the cheery one, aren’t you, Scream?”

Starscream’s wings did their utmost to hike up. This was difficult, in part because he was lying on his back, mostly because there was little of them left.

“What is your purpose here?" he demanded. "Are you going to assassinate me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. ‘Assassinate’ implies that the bot you’re offlining is important." Smokescreen slouched on his chair, servos clasped behind his helm. Glitch had the audacity to look  _smug._  "I’m on guard duty.”

“Guard –“ Starscream tried to sit. The electromagnetic band clamped over his chest made this difficult. “Grah! Why am I restrained?”

“Do you want the full list? Because I’ve got a long one. It starts with a bot called _Cliffjumper,_ and…”

Starscream huffed. “You say that as if you knew him.”

The mechling stuck out his chest. “Just because I haven’t been part of this team for long, doesn’t mean I don’t belong here!”

“Which wasn’t what I said.” Starscream shook his head, mock-pitying. “Careful, mechling. If you broadcast your insecurities so openly, somebody might... _take advantage_ of them.”

“There’ll be no taking advantage in my medbay."

Starscream grimaced. He knew that voice, that purr of oil-slick poured over velvet. It was the traitor.

Knock Out bustled into view, shaking his head. “Honestly, Scream. I thought you had better taste than that. He’s far too young.”

“I was merely imparting a vital piece of life advice.”

Knock Out examined his claws, while Smokescreen was busy spluttering at the _too young_ comment. “I don’t think the mech strapped to the table in the enemy base is qualified.” He nodded to Smokescreen. “Thank you for watching him. I hope he didn’t cause too much trouble.”

Smokescreen, still a little hot about the vents, crossed his arms with a snort. “Whatever, doc. Still don’t think he needed a guard. How much damage can he do, tied up like this?”

“Oh, not much. The restraints are mostly for my own amusement. Now, scat. I need to examine him before I return to our other patients." Knock Out hit Smokescreen with that hip-cock, smirk combo that he used to flaunt at Starscream. Starscream had thought he was looking to curry favour, at first - it took him embarrassingly long to realize that was just how Knock Out talked to everyone. "I’m sure there’ll be plenty to keep you occupied at the construction site.”

“Ugh. Yeah.” Smokescreen rotated his shoulders, winglets drooping. “What with all this manual labour, I almost miss the war.”

Him and Starscream both. How had he fallen so far? Even when that squishy fool Silas stole his T-Cog, Starscream had not been so low. At least back then he could walk. Now…

He glanced down. 

His legs were gone. One had snapped when Skylynx caught Starscream in his mouth, worried him like an old bone. The other was lost when his brother decided he wanted to share the treat, and the two engaged in a rousing game of tug-of-war.

Starscream shuddered. He was lucky the wires in his hip flexors had ripped, rather than the piping around his fuel tank.  _That_ had come later, when the so-called Predaking descended on him, mandibles snapping, claws rending, eyes alive with fire...

The door snicked closed. Starscream managed to disguise his jump. He hadn't noticed Smokescreen leave.

Knock-Out shifted to fill his vision. His pretty porcelain faceplate was unreadable. Realization trickled through Starscream, like ice-cold water dribbling under his plates. Scrap. He'd just been left alone with a galactically-renowned sadist.

Still, he couldn't resist a jibe.

“ _Enemy base? Thank you, Smokescreen?_ I knew you were a treacherous glitch of a turncoat, but I didn’t think you were so lily-livered as to _go native._ ”

“Not a wise idea to insult the mech in charge of fixing you.” Knock-Out jerked his chin at the gap where Starscream’s legs used to be. “If I even can.”

Starscream suspected the Autobots had already smelted the spare legs, tipped with specialised Seeker-pedes, which were once stored in the _Nemesis’s_ medical surplus, ready for the next time he got on Megatron's bad side. And as for his _wings_ …

Tortured metal scraped the board beneath him. Starscream swallowed. Best not think about those.

“Of course,” he snapped, “I wouldn’t expect your new friends to keep limbs of such exquisite construction in your vaults. Typical grounders.”

“Exquisite? More like antique! Not to mention  _spindly._ ”

“Why you! I am not –“

“I wouldn’t use your legs to pick my dentae.”

Starscream strained against his bonds. “Mock my construction all you please! I am the fastest seeker to ever be sparked, Lord Megatron’s Second in Command –“

“Was,” said Knock-Out. “Was his Second in Command. The war’s over, Starscream." 

Starscream remembered. The whack of a blunt instrument against his cranium, the floor speeding up to meet him. Blackness, oblivion.

“Yes,” he sneered. “No thanks to you.” Then – because while Knock-Out hid his vulnerabilities better than Smokescreen, Starscream had known him long enough to always hit where it hurt – “Whatever would Breakdown say?”

Knock Out showed no indication that his words had struck home. “Breakdown would’ve come with me.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s already dead. This way, when I escape, I only have one treacherous pede-licker to kill.” 

He expected  _some_  reaction. He was ready for it, even, in a sick sort of way. He was tied down, defenceless, halfway to frame-death already. An easy target.

But Knock-Out just hooked a dangling line to the exposed medical ports on Starscream’s neck.

“I have other patients to worry about." His voice was brisker than the frigid wastes at the Earth's South Pole. “Our foray into the Predacons’ territory was not without casualties, and Bulkhead's leg requires replating. Quite simply, Starscream, I have neither the time nor patience to deal with you.”

Starscream bristled. If there was one thing he refused to be, it was ignored.

“So, what? You’re going to force me into stasis against my will? Call yourself an Autobot?” 

Knock Out stepped back. Starscream didn’t like the smile on his face.

“Um. I hasten to remind you that dissecting me would _also_ be against your new friends’ moral code, and –“

“I’m not going to dissect you. Or put you into involuntary stasis, tempting though it may be.”

Knock Out retreated towards the double-doors.

Starscream took stock of his surroundings. He evidently wasn't worthy of a visit to the medbay-proper. They’d stashed him in the vestibular offshoot that Knock-Out used for surgeries. He was quite familiar with it, thanks to Megatron. It was a small room, by the _Nemesis’s_ standards, scarcely enough room to swing a turbo-fox. It was also completely soundproofed.

Knock Out smacked the panel by the door. The locking system washed red.

“There. Now nobody can hear you scream. Have fun alone here, Starscream. If you’re lucky, once I’ve finished attending to my new team, I’ll remember your existence.”

“Monster!” Starscream called after him. "Wicked fiend, you –“

The door hissed shut. Starscream kept hurling insults at it for the next five kliks regardless. It wasn’t anywhere near as therapeutic as putting a scratch across that pristine faceplate – but all in good time.

Starscream’s plan had been, at least partially, successful. He was alone. And now, legs or otherwise, he could plot his escape.

 


	2. In which Arcee has her say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: hints of past non-con. The Megastar in this fic is... complicated. I don't want to spoil things, but I promise that matters are no way near as simple as Starscream believes. It was a toxic situation where neither party fit easily into the box of 'abuser' or 'victim'. When Megatron arrives in this fic, he and Starscream will actually _talk_ about their past relationship and work things out. Hopefully, everything will become clear - both to them and you, the reader.**

Starscream had been working his claws against his cuffs for hours, to little avail. The most he'd achieved was to blunt his digits - which were already in a state of disrepair, after scrabbling at Predaking's plating and cutting deep rends into the throne he once hoped to claim.

His processor, however, had recovered from his traumas. Starscream knew what he had to do.

Time to play the long game. He couldn’t get out of here if he wasn't ambulant. The Autobots would have to synthesize his new legs from scratch; Knockout could supply his specs to a matter printer. It wouldn’t take more than a decacycle, then he could be on the move again.

Slave to no mech, aligned to no cause but his own. Starscream, his own master.

First though, he had to convince the Autobots it was in their best interests to rebuild him. He didn’t intend to spend the rest of his life as a crippled curio in a jail cell. And that meant he had to put his acting skills to use.

“And so, you see, I was but a victim of Megatron’s tyranny. I suffered grievous abuse at his servos, the details of which are – are unsuitable for young audials to hear."

He even added a tremor to his voice. The irony, of course, was that every word was true. Starscream only feigned this state of mewling weakness. Yes, Megatron had twisted his wings, beaten him, used him in ways that fine, upstanding mechs would gasp and shudder to hear. But bodies were easier to break than sparks. And, unlike sparks, they could be rebuilt again.

At the end of the day, all the old slagger had done was to teach Starscream the most vital lessons of his life. To trust no one but himself, to preserve his own spark, and to skulk and toady for as long as necessary before getting his revenge. Really, Starscream ought to be thanking him.

Starscream intended to put these lessons to use. He widened his optics, letting a little washer-fluid seep from the glands on either side. Would a sob be too excessive?

"I-I-I have seen the error of my actions, I assure you! I repent for the grievous loss I have caused to your faction, and -"

"Practising, are we?" The door eased open; the doctor eased in. "Tough luck, buttercup. No way is Arcee gonna fall for that."

Starscream rolled his head around his stiff neck gyros, shooting Knock Out a glare. What impeccable timing. He'd hoped he'd at least have long enough for the turbofox-tears to evaporate, before one of his captors came to gawp. Curses - he couldn't get a servo free to wipe the leaky tracks off his faceplate! "What the frag is a _buttercup?”_

“Human thing. You know how the squishies are.”

“Puny, weak, infuriatingly numerous?”

“Exactly.” Knock Out grimaced. “And I hear we are soon due to have _five_ of them scuttling all over our ship.”

Starscream relaxed on his damaged wing struts, as much as he could. He could still smirk – the Predacons hadn’t robbed him of that.

Knock Out frowned. “What?”

“Hm?”

“What’s that face for?” He walked closer. Starscream detested it: the easy roll of his hips, the clunk of his pedes against the medbay floor. All those things he took for granted.

It was pure, smelting torture for a Seeker to be confined to one place for any duration of time. He could already feel the itch in his wings. But to not even be able to _walk?_ To not be able to lever himself off his berth for long enough to let the draft play across his tailerons?

At this rate, by the time they forged his new legs, he would be half-way to insanity.

“I am simply glad to hear you call it _our ship_. Could it be that you plan to spring me, pledge yourself once more to the Decepticon cause?”

Knock Out’s laugh was quite insulting. “Starscream, Starscream. There _is_ no more Decepticon cause.”

“There is me!”

“And look at yourself!” Knock Out braced both hands on the gurney, leaning over Starscream with his usual malignant smile. “I simply joined the winning side – which, let’s face it, was never going to be yours.”

Starscream had suspected as much. “No such thing as loyalty among cons, eh?”

“You’d know all about that.” Knock Out drummed his claws on the table. “Of course, I can always be convinced. Make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Mutual rule,” said Starscream, immediately. “You and I, kings of this world. Reigning over a reawakening Cybertron, bringing about the dawn of a new age…”

“Pass.”

Starscream blinked. “Pass?”

“Too much effort. You know me, Starsceam. I’ve never seen the allure of leadership.” Knock Out’s red optics shone. “I feel the call of the open highway! The siren-song of high-grade, the thrill of the racetracks! Why, _King of Cybertron_ sounds stultifying in comparison.”

Curse his hedonism. “Then be my follower. I will grant you anything, your spark’s desire –“

“I doubt it. You’re hardly Primus.”

The doctor’s flippant tone made the itch under his mesh worsen. Starscream gnashed his dentae.

“You don’t _belong_ here,” he growled. “You aren’t one of them. You never _will_ be. Why, I'm surprised your new _team_ permit you to visit my berthside alone.”

“It’s not about trust. My interests are aligned with theirs! We all want to see Cybertron restored to its former glory. There’s simply no point in fighting anymore.” Knock Out patted Starscream's cheek. Lashed down as he was, there was nothing he could do about it - other than snarl, an ability he made the most of. “Now, should you wish to capitalize on my new team's hospitality, I suggest you give that speech a bit of a polish.”

Starscream opened his mouth, wings hiked high, to inform Knock Out that he didn’t take advice from traitors. Then, gradually, he shut it again.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

“Eh?”

“How did you do it? How did you convince them…” Starscream made a small circling gesture with his hand, as much as he could, considering his bonds. “You know.”

Knock Out leaned back. “That I was willing to change?”

“To become a soft-sparked glitch, yes.” Starscream rolled his optics. Stars, why was everything so _blue?_ “There must be some trick to it. If you tell me, you will have my gratitude – should that still be worth anything to you, of course.”

Something strange was happening to Knock Out’s faceplates. It was as if he couldn’t decide whether to mock Starscream’s misery, or share in it. “You want to know the trick?”

“Indeed.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pits, yes. Just tell me already.”

Knock Out shrugged. “If you say so…” He leaned in, claws clicking on Starsceam’s twisted shoulder strut. Warm ex-vents steamed against his cheek. This close, the rumble of Knock Out’s engines was audible. It shivered through Starscream in a way that would be very-almost pleasant, if this mech wasn’t a slag-sucking traitor, destined for the lowest circle of the pit. “The trick is simple, Starscream. The trick is… for there _not to be a trick at all.”_

Starscream expected advice of a more utilitarian nature. What was he supposed to do with that? “No. No, that’s – that’s not an answer. It makes no sense! How is there a trick if there’s not a trick? I do not appreciate these riddles, and –“

“There you are!”

They were interrupted by the dulcet cry of the Autobot medic. It seemed Knock Out was not as free-range as he claimed.

The Hatchet stomped in, hand propped on wrench, wrench propped on hip. He wagged a finger at Knock Out as if he were an errant sparkling. “What’ve I told you? You’re supposed to be tending to Ultra Magnus! His condition is –“

“Stable,” said Knock Out, while Starsceam filed that information for later use. Always good to know which Autobots were out-of-action.

“Ap-bap-bap! That is not proper medical practice! What with our proximity to the Sea of Rust, his wounds require frequent monitoring. Primus, what _did_ they teach you at the Medical Guild?”

Knock Out scratched sheepishly at his long white audials. “I, uh, didn’t attend a Guild Academy.”

“Psh, nonsense. How did you acquire a license?

“Oh, you know.” Knock Out flashed a grin. It was one of his cheesier attempts. “Forgery, bribery, extortion. The usual.”

Ratchet groaned. “You aren’t qualified to be an _assistant._ How you kept the Decepticon army going for so many vorns is quite beyond me!”

“Hey now. I learned on the job. Screamer here gave me plenty of practice. A lightweight seeker-class, one of the most complex models to operate on. I pieced him back together from scrap every other cycle!" Knock Out folded his arms. "I think that should speak for my credentials.”

Starscream hissed. No wonder Knock Out kept messing up his sensor array, back when he first signed aboard the _Nemesis._ At the time, Starscream had assumed that he suffered from a chronically short attention span. Apparently, he’d just been incompetent.

Still, he must be a fast learner. Starscream hadn’t chastised him for a shoddy fix in vorns, and Megatron’d been scrapping him near-daily, before Starscream stopped fighting back.

Ratchet looked at him for the first time. “It’s a miracle you still function. Count yourself blessed by Primus.”

Starscream snorted. “I suppose you wish he’d chosen a worthier mech to protect.”

The old medic’s faceplates were perfectly static. “More than you know.”

Something told him now was not the time to trial his speech. Starscream gulped.

“What is to become of me?” he demanded, instead. “Do you plan to keep me here, in this condition? Am I to be your spoils of war? A caged pet, to be paraded before the adoring crowds?”

“There _are_ no adoring crowds.” Ratchet rolled his optics to the ceiling and the open sky beyond it, spanning horizon-to-horizon beyond the _Nemesis’s_ swarthy hull. “Not yet.”

Knock Out caught the furrowing of Starscream's brows. He had the decency to elaborate. “We sent out a broadcast. However, the scattered denizens of Cybertron have yet to respond to our call.”

Starscream scoffed. “Well, of course. They’re not _stupid_. If they returned for every ceasefire, they’d never get the chance to refuel. How're they supposed to know if this is going to stick?”

“Your pessimism isn’t appreciated,” said Ratchet, which was rather big, coming from him.

Starscream shook his helm. He was stuck here. Might as well discover as much as he could of the Autobots’ plans. “Very well," he growled. "I'll play along. Say our refugees return. Then what?”

“We rebuild. We do things right. No caste system, no corruption. We erect a new senate, start afresh...”

If the old mech thought it was that easy, he was less cynical than Starscream gave him credit for. Still, with the Prime gone, the Autobots needed to get their boundless idealism from _somewhere._

“Will there be room for me in this brave new world, doctor?”

Ratchet’s eyes were thin slices of blue. "That,” he said, “has not yet been decided.”

Starscream shifted. He tried to make it look as if he was arranging himself more comfortably, rather than fidgeting with unease. “Well, you’d better decide quickly. I could be a great boon to your faction, Doctor – but I fear that once the flight madness sets in, I’ll be of little use to anyone.”

An exaggeration, but not by much. He could suffer a decacycle without flight, so long as he was mobile. But still, the itch needled at his healing mesh, compounding his misery.

Ratchet glowered, no sympathy. “It’s not about _use_. It’s about _spark_. Knock Out, accompany me. I’ll put you through your paces. You might be up to scratch with seeker-frames –“

“In itself a feat,” said Knock Out, rather huffily. "And I  _never_ scratch frames unless I intend to. Consider it a matter of personal integrity."

“Yes, yes. But a true medic is an expert on _every_ class of mech, not just one. I want you to repair Bulkhead’s pede under my supervision.”

They set off, headed for the door. They were going to leave him again! Starscream had yet to acquire any satisfactory answers – not regarding whether he would be fixed, or whether he’d be freed, or even when they planned to come back. He couldn't let them go.

“Wait!”

Ratchet put his selective hearing to use. Still, Knock Out paused on the threshold. He glanced back, wearing another of those measured, enigmatic expressions that Starscream couldn’t make helms or afts of.

Starscream didn’t like it. He scowled enough for the both of them.

“Tell me what you meant earlier,” he hissed. “I demand it. Tell me the trick.”

“There is no trick.”

“That doesn’t make _sense –_ “

“There is no trick because you have to want to change.” Knock Out shook his helm. “And that’s one thing, dear Commander, that you will never be capable of.”

“Why you–! I am capable of _anything!_ I am –“

“Beyond help. And you don’t even realize it.” Knock Out pressed the locking panel. “I won’t be dragged down with you, Starscream. Spiral alone.”

And on that rejoinder, he left.

“At least fix my legs, sadist!”

Too late. The door had shut; Starscream was left to his solitude.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Time. What was that again? A silly concept, for sure. Starscream had lost all track of it.

His internal chronometer felt as woozy as his balance gyros. It could’ve been a breem. It could’ve been a joor, a vorn, more – although admittedly, he doubted it.

Knock Out had hooked his damaged pump up to an energon baggie. It swung above him, the constant radioactive-blue glimmer chasing away his attempts at recharge. Its levels had lowered as time slid by, but it was, as of yet, half-full.

If Soundwave were here, he might have something observant to add, like: “Starvation: Unlikely.” But he wasn’t.

Soundwave was gone. Megatron was crazier than usual. Knock Out was determined to be as little help as possible.

They’d all left Starscream to get out of this mess by himself. And, to make matters worse, someone had just opened the door.

Starscream ex-vented, shutting his optics. “Go away. Whoever you are, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“No,” said Arcee. “I’m not.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

How cruel of Knock Out, to leave him at the mercies of his teammates! To not even free one of his servos!

Starscreeam had no means of defence. Should Arcee choose to off-line him, his only hope was to shriek, to summon help before she had the chance.

Before he could put this into practice, she shut the door. The hermetic seal activated with a serpentine hiss.

Nothing for it. Starscream had but one hope left.

“I was but a victim of Megatron’s tyranny! I suffered grievous abuse at his servos, the details of which are – are unsuitable for young audials to hear – and, and, I have seen the error of my ways – no, my actions! Blast! And I, uh, repent, and –“

“Can it, Scream.”

Arcee stopped. He was well beyond the punching range of her stubby little two-wheeler arms. That hardly settled Starscream’s spark. Perhaps she meant to activate her blasters, gun him down? Shoot him like a scraplet. Like _vermin_ …

Arcee disagreed. “I’m not here to off-line you.”

Starscream laughed. A high, giddy sound, pure panic. “ _Why not_?”

“Oh, I want to. Very much. Don’t doubt that.” She stayed immobile, the blue glow of her optics as bright as the energon baggie dangling over Starscream’s head. “And I could. It’d be so easy…”

“Yes, yes,” said Starscream hastily, before she could talk herself into anything. “Let’s skip to the part where you decided you _wouldn’t._ ”

Arcee’s fists formed knots of metal at her sides, like the clinker you found at the bottom of a depowered blast-furnace. Hard and cold, but forged in fury. “Optimus would not have approved.”

"The Prime is dead.”

“Optimus sacrificed himself for all of us. For our _world_. He gave us a chance at a brighter future.” Her optics glimmered like the sparks that had flurried from the well as Starscream lay, gasping and torn, on the Darkmount citadel’s floor. “The least I can do is to honor his memory.”

“Which he won’t care about,” Starscream reminded her. “Because _he’s dead._ ”

Arcee rubbed the chevron on her helm. “Talking to you is like driving into a brick wall.”

“Which begs the question of why you’re subjecting yourself to such torments!”

That sharpened her glare. “Killing you won’t bring me closure. I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Glad to hear it!” Even if she was obviously delusional. Death was the most permanent closure of the lot. “What do you want from me?”

“To _know._  Why did you rip out his spark? Turn him into – into _that thing?_ ”

Starscream didn't have to ask who _he_ referred to. “Because he was the enemy, of course.”

“No.” Her fists trembled. “ _No._ You take prisoners. You always have done. You’ve killed before, but not without at least an attempt to extract information. Why didn’t you give Cliffjumper that chance?”

_Why didn’t you give me time to save him?_

This was one crime Starscream couldn’t blame on Megatron. His Lord had, at that point, been beyond communications range, searching for a fabled army. That army had, of course, failed to materialize. And for Starscream, who'd kept his troops fed and hidden those three vorns? Who'd managed to  _kill an Autobot?_

His reward had been mockery. Pain.

What a cruel twist of cosmic fate, that Starscream should be forced into a situation where he regretted his one, true, _personal_ victory.

He made no reply. What was left to say?

Cliffjumper had asked him where his _Master_ was. Starscream had taken it personally.

Arcee ex-vented, a harsh buzz of a noise that drowned the wheeze of Starscream’s own intakes and the chirr of his monitor machines. “Do you even know what it’s like? To lose someone you love?" Her optics searched his face - for what, Primus only knew. "Can you even understand how that _feels?_ ”

“Yes,” said Starscream.

“Have you even – oh.”

Starscream berated himself. Oh, he’d intended to parade his abuse at Megatron’s hands to stoke the Autobots' pity. But this? This was deeper. Rawer. A true weakness. He did not wish to bandy it for them to exploit.

“Love is for sparklings,” he told Arcee, striving for a flippant tone. “For peace. War strangles it. You should’ve known better.”

He thought she would punch him then, morals be damned. But Arcee merely chewed her lip-plates. “I hate you,” she said, eventually. Starscream feigned a yawn.

“Old news. Now, did you plan on standing there all cycle, or are you going to go tell your _chums_ to hurry up and synthesize _my new legs_?”

Arcee surveyed him, coolly. “We vote tonight," she said.

“On what?”

“On whether we fix you and send you out into the rust. Or if…” She paused. Starscream took care to look as pathetic as possible. “Or if we fix you and let you stay.”

Oh, he could’ve cackled! Foolish femme.

She presented his release as if it was the worst-case scenario. In reality, all Starscream cared about was his continued function. He was an energon Seeker; he could scour the ruins of their world for supplies with far greater efficiency than a team of slowpoke grounders. He would amass himself a stockpile, something to barter with. That would be his trump card, to carry with him into the new era, to elevate him to a position worthy of his potential.

Senator, perhaps? He liked the sound of that. And from there – well. It was only one short step to King.

But he couldn’t let the Autobots suspect that they’d handed him a win. The merciless slaggers would only change the stakes.

Starscream crumpled his faceplates. He squeezed out another dribble of washer-fluid, feeling it trickle down his cheek.

“You can’t send me back out there! You can’t leave me at the mercies of those horrid beasts – or my Master! Please!”

Arcee straightened her spinal strut, all the better to sneer down at him. “Better start praying, Scream. I already know how my vote will be cast.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who read and left a comment/kudos on the last chapter! I greatly appreciate you all. As a side-note, there will be no Arcee-demonization in this fic. I adore her.**


	3. In which Miko gets in trouble (as usual)

Starscream scraped his blunt claws against his cuffs. He shifted on his broken wings. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to fly.

With his optics shut, he could almost imagine it. The sky beckoning him closer, swallowing him up. His kingdom, his realm…

Oh, for the tickle of a breeze.

He wondered if he should feign shakes to hurry the Autobots along. Then realized that it wouldn’t be long before the tremors started in earnest - that plan soon lost its appeal. Still, he could hold off the madness for cycles yet.

Ping! The door opened. Starscream was mortified by the eager look that broadcast over his face for all of a second, before he wrestled himself under control. His energon baggie was empty, and his processor had been running circles around itself without anyone to talk to. It reminded him of exile, of scurrying through filthy caves, bedding down on nests of bracken and shorn branches of pine. Living like an _animal._ And worse – a solitary one.

“Well?” Starscream asked – croaked, really. He cleared his intake, tried again. “Well? Have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes,” said the mech. His voice tightened Starscream’s spine struts. He was used to hearing this bot speak in binary.

“We will repair you,” continued Bumblebee. He was alone – no Knock Out. Starscream wondered which way the good doctor had cast his vote – if he’d even gotten one.

“Then what?” He knew what was coming. It was the most beneficial course for him – and yet, the Autobots seemed to think it some kind of punishment.

The scout’s blue eyes were not vindictive, nor were they mellow. They were _just,_ as Optimus’s had been. Hard, but fair. Starscream knew that no amount of pleading would work. Thank Primus that Bumblebee was giving Starscream just what he wanted.

Right?

“Then you leave, Starscream. Optimus said that all mechs hold the capacity for change. But in order for change to be realised, one first has to want it. When you're ready, we'll be here."

For some reason, something in Starscream's chest clenched tight. He told himself it was fury. How dare this little scout look down at him? How dare he act as if he expected Starscream to come crawling back, sponging, begging for forgiveness...

_Like you begged Lord Megatron?_

That snarky inner voice sounded suspiciously like Knock Out. Starscream didn't want to think about him right now.

"So be it," he growled. "I accept your ultimatum, Autobot."

"Good." Bumblebee stood there a moment longer, practising his self-righteous glare. "Because if, after your repairs, you return to this base without prior warning, we will have no choice but to deem you hostile and fire on sight.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next cycle passed with all the viscosity of congealed energon. By the end of it, when Knock Out and Ratchet swung by to refill Starscream’s bag, his fidgeting was near-constant.

Flight withdrawal. Bane of Seeker-kind. An itch, a horrible itch, like small organic creatures were scuttling beneath his plates...

“Twitchy, are we?”

Starscream scowled at Knock Out, resisting the urge to undulate in his bonds. He’d only cause more damage to his wings - plus, the good Doctor would mock him. “Are you _trying_ to torture me?”

Ratchet shook his helm. “He’s putting it on. Flight-withdrawal doesn’t start having physical symptoms –“

“Until the fifth cycle,” Starscream snapped, wriggling from side to side. “When the Seeker in question has free range of movement, when they’re in a _secure_ state of mind, in a _controlled test space!_ ”

Silence followed. Knock Out broke it.

“I’m afraid he has a point. Anyway…” A shrug of those high-arched shoulder guards. “Starscream’s always been more sensitive.”

“I am _not –_ “

“And so,” continued Knock Out, optics only for Ratchet, “perhaps we should consider releasing him from his restraints?”

Starscream caught his breath. They wouldn’t risk it. Surely not.

Ratchet stroked his chin. “I suppose there’s little harm. It’s not as if he can go anywhere.”

Desperate or otherwise, that still rankled. “I could! If I _really_ put my mind to it!”

The look Knock Out gave him managed to say _not helping_ without the use of a single word. Starscream bit down on his glossa and scowled to one side. For the ability to wiggle his wing-nubs, brutalized though they were? He'd do damn-near _anything_.

“I don't see why you should care," he muttered. "You all want me gone. You little scout was clear about that.”

Knock Out snorted. “I imagine the squishy things currently running rampant around the base have something to do with it. They don’t want you to stay, in case you step on them. Once we've put new legs on you, of course."

Ratchet groaned. “ _Knock Out._ Learn to keep your mouth shut around the prisoner!”

“Eh? You needn’t worry. There are several things Screamer would rather do than squash a squishie.”

Starscream had to agree. “Not with my own plating at least! Ugh, imagine how all those _slimy bits_ would clag up your joints…”

Knock Out swatted his arm. “Stop, stop; I’m going to purge.”

Ratchet studied the both of them. He looked suspicious, but no more than was expected. “I’ll consult with the others,” he said, finally. “Knock Out, you’re to give Bulkhead’s leg plates a last rust-check before he’s fully cleared for construction duty.”

“Aw.” Knock Out pouted. It was a ridiculous expression on an adult mech (unless that mech was Starscream when he wanted something). “Do I have to? Last time I tapped the reflex-response in his knee. Took a joor with a buffer to get the scuffs out!”

“ _That’s_ why you were hogging the detailing room?” Ratchet pinched his chevron. “No, I’m – I’m not even surprised. Go on, get.”

“How long do you suppose this conference will take?” Starscream wanted to know, wriggling as best he could. He needed a breeze across his tailerons; something, _anything…_

Ratchet ex-vented. “It’s a _democracy_ , Starscream. It takes _time_.”

“Well, I don’t _have_ time! Look at me – I’m half way to flight-withdrawal already!”

“You’ve certainly gotten the hyperbole and hysteria symptoms down.”

“Grah! Believe it or not, medic, it’s times like these when I miss your Prime. He at least could be relied on to be decisive in a crisis!”

Ratchet drew himself up. “A leader is needed in times of conflict. But the age of Primes is over, Starscream. And, like it or not, we are at peace.” The doctor’s optics made a brief, cool survey of his form. “I suggest you learn to live with that, before you tear yourself apart.”

But something Starscream said must've hit home. He popped the magneticuffs pinning Starscream's servos to the berth, undoing the strap across his chest.

Starscream wasted no time. He rolled on his side, facing away from his gaolers, and heaved a great, wracking intake-full as air, stirred by his movement, rippled over his wings.

"Perhaps we should get him a fan," said Knock Out.

Starscream sputtered. "I will not be subject to the humiliation of -"

"That might be an idea," Ratchet agreed. "It'll drown out his voice, at least."

Ooh, Starscream would _love_ to carve him open. But in his attempt to saw his way out of his bonds, he'd blunted his only weapons. He curled his ruined talons close to his chest, hunching around them, giving his wings as much room to stir as the damaged mechanisms could manage. He fought the urge to dig his claws between the gaps in plating, wiggle around until he caught that phantom itch. In his condition, he'd only tear his newly-welded tubing, and Knock Out would be even more insufferable than usual if Starcream made all his repairs redundant.

Maybe... just maybe, the fan would help.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The fan helped. Not that Starscream planned on admitting it.

It had been sourced with the aid of Agent Fowler – the brownest and largest of the Autobot's fleshy pets. Starscream had a fond recollection of torturing him, and a less-fond one of being thwarted: that blasted two-wheeler ambushing him from above. He hoped that one day soon he would see the job through.

The fan was an industrial-strength blower, used in wind-tunnels. While it could only hit a small portion of Starscream’s frame at any one time, Knock Out had arranged it to focus on his wings. It was an ersatz simulation of the elements, but it would keep his mind in shape.

His new legs were coming along swimmingly. Knock Out had tapped his specifications into the materializer - he hadn't even had to check Starscream's medical records. While Megatron rarely ripped Starscream's limbs off, his frame had borne the brunt of numerous tantrums over the millennia. There wasn't a part of him that _hadn't_ needed complete refabrication at one point or another - hence why Knock Out used to keep so many spare parts.

Starscream shuddered to think of them all, swinging in the medical bay's subspace. A hundred lithe Seeker frames, all lacking a spark.

That was all the contemplation he had time for. "Is this where you're stashing Screamy?" asked a voice from beyond the door.

"Yeah," rumbled Bulkhead. "Unfortunately."

They must've gotten him up and moving again. Starscream could hear the Wrecker's shambling pede-steps, still hampered with a limp. He wondered whether Ultra Magnus was still convalescing.

Knock Out had left his door ajar when he wandered out, either out of forgetfulness or sadism. Starscream couldn't decide whether it was worse torture to be left to stew in his own company for hours on end, nothing but the _plink_ of the drip in the energon baggie and the _whirr_ of his fan to entertain him, or to have to bite his tongue to prevent himself from reminding Bulkhead that he could hear every word.

"Not for much longer though," said the voice. "Hm. Guess I'd better pay a visit now, before Screamy goes solo!"

"What? Miko - no! What part of _dangerous prisoner_ do you not - Miko!"

Footsteps, pattering closer, lighter than a sparkling. Then a tiny, pink-striped flesh-sack grinned at Starscream through the crack in the door.

"Wow, Screamy! You look like scrap."

Starscream snarled. The squishie failed to burst into tears or scrabble away, or indeed, look terrified at all. He remembered this one. What this creature lacked in height, it made up in its ability to be a pest. Starscream held it in especial contempt, ever since it walloped him with _his_ Apex Armor.

The organic rolled its eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Bark's worse than your bite."

"Miko - wait up!" Screech-clank. Screech-clank. Bulkhead made his way through the medbay, occasionally pausing to shove a hover-berth out of his path. Starscream allowed himself a vindictive moment to relish the thought of what Ratchet would do to him in retribution.

The squishie swaggered closer. Forget what he'd told Knock Out; it would be _so very satisfying_ to crush this creature under his pede... But Starscream was currently lacking in that department - as the squishie took it upon itself to point out.

"Holy fraginator!"

"That's not a _word,_ Miko..."

"Your legs! They're gone! And your eyes are - wait, ew, your wings are all tatty too. That's..."

Tragic? Disgusting? Shameful - for a Seeker to be without their single function: flight?

"Seriously cool! Like something from a zombie movie!" The squishie bounced on its itty-bitty pedes. "What happened? Did you crash land? Did you pick a fight with your boss again? Knock Out said that happens a lot."

Starscream had intended to suffer the creature's visit in noble silence, but he couldn't lie still through _that._ "Why, I - I never _crash land!_ I was Winglord of the Seeker Armada, most accomplished flier in Vos! And I never _picked a fight_ with Lord Megatron! He was always the one who tried to scrap _me!_ "

"Hmph." The squishie crossed its arms. "What about all that _Now I, Starscream, am ruler of the Decepticons_ scrap?"

Her impression of his voice wasn't all that flattering. Starscream sneered. He'd arranged himself to face the door, so that he could keep an eye on anyone who entered. It seemed like too much effort to heave himself to look the other way. Plus, the fan was hitting his tailerons in a sublime spot, and he wanted to eke out the illusion of flight for as long as possible. That was his only reason for continuing the conversation.

"He was always the one who started it," he explained. "I just wanted to _finish_ it."

The squishie giggled. Starscream blinked.

"What."

"You sound like my host-mom!"

"Your host... what now?"

"You know, _mom._ " The squishie cocked its head to one side. "I know you guys have them. Carriers, right? Only anyone can be a carrier, not just a femme. Because I asked Arcee about that and she got really huffy and Smokescreen said that if I had plating, I'd have been punched into next week."

"Yes, but..." Starscream couldn't figure out why one's carrier would also be one's host. Surely it was common practice to permit one's offspring to reside with them until they came of fledgling age? Still, the squishies were savages. They had strange customs - and, unlike a certain doctor with a snazzy finish, Starscream didn't care to know more about them. "Whatever. Go away."

"Miko!" The idiot finally galumphed in, all but bashing the door open.

"Don't break that," grumbled Starscream. "It's my sole reprieve from you idiots."

Bulkhead ignored him. He had eyes only for his squishie child. "Did he hurt you?"

Starscream tapped his claws boredly on the berth. "Oh, trust me. I wish I could."

"Geez, Bulk." The squishie smacked his nearest pede - the undamaged one, not that its little fist could cause much harm. "I can look after myself."

"Yeah, but..." Bulk's optics flicked between Starscream and his charge. "You know Screamer. Always got a trick up his sleeve."

"No tricks, I assure you. The child can gawp, if it wishes. It will be good practice, for when I enslave its race and force the lot of you kneel before a giant statue, erected in my honor."

"Still singing the same old tune, eh, Starscream." Bulkhead shook his head. "You never change."

The squishie, however, treated Starscream to a closer examination. "I think," it said slowly, "that might've been a joke. Or like. A really lame attempt at one."

Starscream's faceplates heated. "That's what you think."

"Sure, Screamy." The squishie dipped him a wink, pointing both index digits in a gesture Knock Out claimed was called 'finger-guns'. "Keep telling yourself that. He's making jokes, Bulk! There's hope for him yet!"

Bulkhead didn't look convinced. "Mm..."

The squishie didn't give up that easily. "C'mon! You know what Optimus said, before he jumped in the well. _Every spark has the capacity for change._ "

The same words Bumblebee had parroted earlier. Perhaps they were conspiring together? They would bombard Starscream with their ridiculous, soft-sparked notions about _caring for one another_ and _personal betterment,_ until he succumbed to the onslaught!

Well, tough luck. They would not prevail! He had been Starscream, Leader of the Decepticons once. He would be Starscream, Leader of Cybertron in the future - if everything went according to plan.

Admittedly, things very rarely did. This time was no exception.

Bulkhead shook his head, propping his broad Wrecker hands on his hips. He shifted his weight onto his other leg.

His bad leg, to be precise. He'd failed to account for this, much as he'd failed to account for the javelin of pain that thrust up his strut and rebounded off his hip.

"Scrap!"

And then, like the great lumber-trees the squishies had felled as they colonised their muddy little world, he teetered, tottered, fell.

Towards Starscream.

Only one thing to do. A mech that big falling on top of anyone would do serious damage, and right now, Starscream couldn't afford any more dents.

He wrenched the line free of his energon tank in a fountain of radioactive-blue liquid. Gripped the edge of the pallet. Flung himself forwards.

 _Crash._ He hit the Wrecker's arm, who screamed at an impressive soprano pitch. "Miko! Watch ou -"

Too late. Down they went.

Starscream caught a flash of huge, wet, organic eyes. Hands upflung in defence - useless. Hair with a ridiculous pink stripe, like the warning marks of a verminous species.

No time to think. Just act.

Starscream twisted away. He yanked the Wrecker around on his own momentum.

Next second - _thud -_ they hit the floor.

No squelch. That was something, at least. Though this situation wasn't his fault in the slightest, Starscream suspected the Autobots would find _some_ way to pin the blame on him, were one of their pets to be off-lined.

With that in mind, when their impact jostled a tray of Knock Out's drill attachments off the nearby medical pull-out trolley, he stuck out his arm and caged the human under his hand. The drills rattled painfully off his knuckles, but Starscream had suffered far worse. Loathe as he was to defend this creature, he was surrounded by enemies. Better to earn their trust than their enmity.

The last medical device-slash-torture instrument struck the floor. It settled with a metallic rattle, and lay still.

Silence.

Starscream peeled up his hand. No wet mess underneath.

"Holy fraginator," said the squishie. Its eyes had somehow become larger than ever - and now they were _shiny_ too. "Screamy just saved my life!"

Bulkhead groaned. He flopped his helm back against the floor with a heartfelt "Scrap."

 

* * *

 

 

The racket brought their resident medical staff running. Starscream heard them coming from afar.

"Slaggit, Knock Out! You were supposed to be on duty!"

"Well, excuse _me_ for needing a visit to the little mech's room!"

"It takes a minute to relieve a waste tank. It takes ten to primp at one's finish and admire oneself in reflective surfaces! Honestly, mech - when will you learn?"

Bulkhead shifted under him. "Uh. Scream? D'you mind -"

"Shut up." Starscream's mind was whirling. What did this mean? Could he, perhaps, play this to his advantage? Cast himself as the altruist, spurred into action at the thought that a youngling - even one of a race so inferior - might be harmed?

Hm. Possible. He _had_ threatened to expose the lot of them to the noxious Cybertronian atmosphere (the Nemesis, of course, having by now been repaired to its usual airtight status, meaning the repulsive creatures could skitter about inside without the use of respirators). But it was worth a try. Yes, they'd already agreed to fix him - but getting a little _respect_ from these _Autochumps_ would be the high-grade on the energon cake, so to speak.

Bulkhead wiggled with increased vigor. "Seriously, Scream. You should -"

Ratchet marched in. "What in _Primus's_ name has been going on in -"

He stopped. Knock Out peeped over his shoulder, gauging the reason for the medic mech's sudden transformation into a statue. Then he groaned. "Frag, Starscream. Would it kill you to not seduce _every_ mech who walks into the medbay?"

"Seduce?"

Starscream looked down. He discovered that Bulkhead and himself had landed in a position that – well. It was _compromising_ to say the least. His broken thigh-struts splayed to either side of the Wrecker's girthy hips.

And their panels…

Oh, _Primus._

Starscream thought his faceplate might catch light. He blinked at the pair of medics while his processor decided whether it ought to focus on mortification or anger. As usual, he chose the latter.

"Get me off," he snarled at Bulkhead.

Knock Out made a noise that sounded very much like a choke.

" _You!_ Get me _off you! Now_!"

"Scrap, Scream, I did try to warn you..."

"And enough with the nicknames!" Starscream huffed as the overgrown fool lowered him, with surprising care, to one side. "It's _Starscream._ Not _Screamer._ Not _Screamy._ Not _Scream!_ Starscream! Do I need to spell it?" He took stock of his audience and corrected himself. "No - you're a Wrecker. I doubt that'd help."

"Hey!" Something struck his hip joint. Starscream looked down from where he had been placed, his broken wings grating on the medbay wall. His assailant was none other than the squishie he'd just saved. The impact had come from its boot. "You don't get to do something cool then be rude to my best friend!"

Bulkhead's optics widened. "Woah there, Miko." He scooped the squishie up, still swinging. "Let's not risk a scrapping."

But he watched Starscream with a new sort of look, one Starscream had rarely been on the receiving end of. It looked very much like gratitude.

Knock Out couldn’t be more different. Edging past Ratchet, he hurried to Starscream, lecture on the tip of his glossa. "How've you managed to injure yourself _more?_ And - of course, you ripped out your intravenous line. If you're trying to off-line yourself, there are easier ways. And ones that leave less _mess_ for the rest of us."

"Hilarious as always, Doctor." Still, Starscream let Knock Out press on the open line, which leaked energon in soft glugs.

"I need to get you back on that gurney."

"And perhaps," added Ratchet, optics on Starscream, filled with the usual suspicion. "While he attends to our prisoner, the rest of you can inform me of _what in the pit just happened?_ "

The squishie opened its mouth. Ratchet raised a finger. "Ap-bap-bap! I'll hear it from Bulkhead."

Starscream snorted. Perhaps he and the old Hatchet shared something in common, even if it was only a mutual disdain for all fleshling-kind.

He barely heard Bulkhead's recitation of events, although his mind latched onto phrases such as _no, he wasn't attacking me_ and _saved her, can you believe it?_ His lack of concentration wasn't due to a wandering processor. Rather, it was because Knock Out, frowning at his leaking line, had taken the most efficient and least professional way imaginable to return Starscream to his berth.

"What the – put me down! Put me down _immediately!_ How dare you to presume to -"

Knock Out grimly hiked him higher in his arms as Starscream writhed and flapped and made himself a general nuisance. "Scratch my paintwork and I unbolt your wings entirely."

"That is _not_ in line with authorized medical practice!" Starscream turned pleading optics on Ratchet. "Right, doctor?"

Whether it was because of Bulkhead's recounting of his bravery, Knock Out's eye-roll, or the squishie's continued existence, this time, it worked. "Indeed, it is not! Knock Out, do not threaten the patients."

Starscream smirked.

"That is a privilege reserved for the first medical officer. And so, Starscream..."

Knock Out deposited him, rather more cavalierly than, in Starscream's esteemed opinion, he deserved. Ratchet didn’t chastise him. Instead, he stalked to Starscream, jabbing his digit close enough that it filled his vision-feed.

"Should I find that this is some effort to _manipulate_ us, I will take your wings off myself."

They drooped at the thought. But Ratchet wasn't done yet.

"And then I will slice them up, in front of you. I will cover them in energon, stick them in a bucket of kibble and toss them into the sea of rust for the Predacons. Do we have an accord?"

Starscream's wings dipped so low that the twisted gyros scraped, letting out sparks. "Y-yes," he whispered, while Bulkhead looked uncomfortable and his human pet whistled, as if it was impressed. "You've made yourself quite clear. No manipulation, I assure you." His optics slid down to the fleshie. "It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And, if this is my thanks for it, one that I regret."

"Hm." Ratchet rocked back on his pedes. He spent a minute in silence, long enough for Starscream to start shifting around, trying to find the sweet spot on his wings with the constant gust of air from the fan. Then he snapped his digits. "Knock Out. That concept you spoke to me of earlier. The one I -"

"Shot down? Described as unnecessarily risky? The one that made you question my loyalty to your cause? That one?"

"Yes, that'd be it." Ratchet studied Starscream as if he was spread on a vivisection table in a lab. "I think we should put it into practice."

"Um." Starscream tapped his foreclaws together. "What?" Before he could start fretting about the ghastly medical experiments Knock Out planned to subject him to, the red medic reattached his energon line with a _clink_ and dug his elbow joint into his side. He was gentle enough to not damage him further.

"Smile, Starscream. Ratchet says I get to take you outside."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you SO MUCH for all the comments on the last chapter! It's amazing to know how many people are excited to see where this fic goes. You guys give me the energy to write. Keep that feedback coming! Especial thanks to Guest, for leaving incredible long, detailed comments on all of my fics. You're a true blessing, my friend.**


	4. In which Knock Out is a pack horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HORRIFICALLY overdue! I can only apologize. I was promoted at the start of the year and have had very little time to write fanfic since. My thanks to everyone who's supported this fic! Some warnings in this chapter: mild hints of past rape and general abuse. Some graphic language, but no graphic action.**

Later, Starscream would be embarrassed by his reaction to those words. The slow, tremulous spread of his ruined wings. The brightening of his faceplates. The grin that trotted out without bothering to request permission from his processor.

The fleshling described the overall effect as 'a puppy going for walkies!' Starscream didn't know what that meant, and for all Knock Out's insistence that it was complimentary, he wasn't sure he believed him.

But in the moment, he felt nothing but pure, spark-lifting elation. Knock Out was taking him to see the sky!

He didn’t even complain when he was picked up again. Much.

“This is demeaning.”

“It’s not exactly a picnic for me either,” Knock Out griped. He readjusted his grip, shuffling Starscream higher. “You might be a lightweight, but you’re far too _flappy._ I don’t even want to imagine the damage you'll inflict on my paintwork!”

“Well, this was _your_ idea, remember? Take some responsibility!”

“Yes, it was my idea.” Knock Out treated him to his favorite cruel smirk. “And I can rescind this privilege if I don’t think your behavior warrants it.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. A bribe or a threat. That was the way with Decepticons. Never a glint of kindness – not unless you expected something in return. Clearly, this arrangement was mercurial; if he did as Knock Out told him, he got to see the sky.

With that thought in mind, Starscream shut his mouth.

He won a chuckle. “There we go. You’re much better company when you’re not talking.”

Starscream didn’t rise to the bait. He’d been promised an excursion, and an excursion he would get. He wasn’t going to jeopardize that by running a talon along Knock Out’s pretty, cherry-red chest. Even if it _was_ very tempting.

Knock Out seemed to be waiting for a response. When none came, he shrugged, and lapsed into silence. It allowed Starscream to concentrate on the sounds of the _Nemesis –_ the faint, background hum of the generators, the faraway resonation of the vehicons’ marching pedes. And, of course, the murmur of conversation from the canteen. Which they were about to pass through, on their way to the flight-deck lift.

Starscream’s spark sunk. He smacked Knock Out, inadvertently marring the neat line between red chest-plates and white abdominals. “No!”

Knock Out, not expecting the sudden flurry, yelped. He had to stagger, readjusting his weight so as not to drop Starscream on his aft. “What the – do you _mind?_ ”

Starscream _hissed._ His wings bristled, as much as they could; he shoved his snarling face into close proximity with Knock Out’s. “You will _not_ show me off to your new companions in this pathetic state!"

Knock Out winced at the shrill pitch. “Starscream, please. This is the fastest route to the flight deck!” He shrugged him up in his arms. "Think of it! Wind on your wings. We’re so _close!_ ”

Ugh. Can't/must conflict. "...You're one manipulative mech."

“No,” said Knock Out, smug. “I just know what you want. And, in the interests of you _not_ screeching off my audials…” He lowered Starscream, who watched the proceedings, suspicious, then turned and knelt before him.

Usually, Starscream would be all over that. But Knock Out was facing away. “Um, what?”

Knock Out’s shot Starscream an amused look over one high, curved shoulder-guard. “Better than being lugged about like a swaddling sparkling, no? Get on. My patience only lasts so long.”

Starscream swallowed. He carefully rocked himself forwards, long, thin arms looping Knock Out’s chassis. With his legs snapped off mid-thigh, he couldn’t very well wrap his legs around his waist. On second thoughts though, that might be for the best. The Doctor would never let him live _that_ down.

Still, the hands that scooped back to support him were little better. Starscream jerked at the first touch, and, when it reasserted itself, issued an indignant squawk.

“This is _not_ an excuse for you to _cop a feel_!”

“Puh-lease,” said Knock Out, in a tone he must’ve picked up from Ratchet. “I’m a professional! You want to be dangling by your arms? Your upper fuel lines are damaged – I can’t let you subject them to undue stress, on my conscience as a medical practitioner.”

"You don't _have_ a conscience!"

"Haven't you heard?" Knock Out fluttered his optics - still red, of course. He'd never submit to the color change; it would clash far too much with his paintwork. "I'm an Autobot now. The conscience is part of the parcel."

Starscream scowled, but there was very little he could do. Squirming would only worsen his predicament.

The servos cupping his aft were warm. Firm. A lot smaller and gentler than Lord Megatron’s had been. And, true to Knock Out’s word, they _didn’t_ give him a groping. No more than was necessary, anyway.

“We never speak of this again,” he grated, locking his arms more firmly around the doctor’s throat. “And, should you be tempted to let your servos wander, I would beg you to remember…” The tip of one blunt talon traced Knock Out’s jawline. “…Just how close your vital energon lines are to my claws.”

“Yes, yes.” Knock Out rolled his optics. “Posturing over. Perhaps we should get outside _before_ the sun sets?”

Starscream straightened – he wouldn’t be seen slouching against Knock Out like an invalid. His torn wings spread behind him. It wasn’t the proudest image, but it was the best he could manage.

“Very well,” he said, imperious. A noble warrior, that was what he was. Riding his mechanimal steed. “Onwards, dear doctor. Let’s get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

 

The canteen wasn't, as Starscream had feared, crowded with enemies, waiting with laughter primed on the tips of their glossas. Wheeljack and Bulkhead were the main source of entertainment, engaged in a rowdy lobbing match while Smokescreen and Bumblebee cheered them on.

Then there were the humans. As Knock Out had said, they numbered five - the three children Starscream had taken to Cybertron, dear Agent Fowler, and another, a woman in green scrubs who he didn't recognize.

From Knock Out's past reports, he suspected this was the mother. She alone didn't appear to be enamoured with the Wreckers' game, wincing whenever the heavy ball of scrap clanged into the Wreckers' chests.

As a result, she was the first to notice movement by the doors. She turned, leaving the children and Fowler to their cheers (how were such minuscule creatures capable of broadcasting at such volumes? Logic insisted that their lung capacities ought to be larger than they were).

When she saw who'd entered, her gasp was sharp enough to draw attention from every bot and squishie in the room.

" _You!_ "

Knock Out tensed. Starscream, draped on his back, felt his plating tighten, clamping tight to the protoform. "Uh, Mrs June Darby, if this is about a certain _trunk incident,_ I'm sure our mutual friends have explained the circumstances of my recent... _change of spark..._ "

"Turncoating, you mean," muttered Starscream in his audial. But this creature - this _June_ _Darby -_ wasn't having it.

She stood on a small, scruffy mezzanine, erected at the side of the energon dispenser. Starscream assumed it was a Wrecker's handiwork, if only because it was so incongruous with the rest of the _Nemesis's_ foreboding design. Like slapping a DIY shelf in a Vosian throne room. The Wreckers might be passable at construction, but unless they were directed by a bot with actual taste, their designs tended towards the brutalist. Functionality; no flair.

The mezzanine fulfilled its purpose: to keep the squishies from underfoot. A cage might've been wiser, as there was nothing preventing June from clambering down the ladder and stomping towards them - except her son's restraining hand on her arm.

"Mom, don't! He's not worth it!"

"Not worth it? Jack, he had you in a test tube! Like some sort of _lab animal!_ He was going to _poison_ you!"

Knock Out relaxed. "Oh. She's mad at you, not me."

"Who isn't," quipped Smokescreen. Starscream shot him a sneer, then changed his mind and directed it at the human instead.

"Rage against me all you wish. You are too puny to do me damage, even in my weakened state."

"Yeah, underestimate us," said Fowler. He postured beside June, and Starscream saw the crackle of his old energon prod in his eyes. "That's worked so well for you in the past."

"Guys." The scout stepped forwards, both hands upraised. "Perhaps we ought to tone it down. No need for this to escalate -"

"I'm not _escalating,_ " snapped June. Her scowl might've had more effect were she taller than Starscream's smallest claw. "This monster tried to murder my son. All of these kids! Multiple times. If there's anyone who doesn't deserve redemption, it's him."

"Screamy's not _that_ bad," said the stripey one. "He saved my life, remember?"

Starscream groaned. "Dear Primus, don't say it out loud. You're embarrassing me."

"It's true!" The striped human turned her back on him, hands on hips, as she addressed her fellow fleshly companions. "He stopped Bulkhead falling on top of me and turning me into a pancake. _And_ he stuck his hand over me so I wouldn't be brained by a drill!"

Bulkhead lowered the lobbing ball, wincing as he took a step. "Miko, I don't think..."

His knee creaked. Knock Out narrowed his eyes. "When Ratchet said you needed to work on rehabilitation, I don't think this is what he had in mind."

"Aw, c'mon Doc." That was Wheeljack, leaning his shoulder on the wall at the mess hall's far end. "I'm taking good care at him."

"Yeah!" the striped human - Miko - piped up. "Bulk's tougher than he looks!"

"But you," said June, "are not. Miko, you shouldn't have been in that part of the medbay in the first place!"

"Ah." Starscream smirked. "Something on which we can agree."

Miko crossed her arms. "You should be grateful to me, Screamy. I'm the only reason you're getting fresh air."

June shook her head. "He should be locked up! Forever! So he can't hurt anyone else!"

"We voted," Bumblebee tried, but June wasn't having it.

"Yes. _You_ voted. But I suppose our opinions don't matter, do they? Even though this is one of the bots who tried to destroy our world?"

"Terraform," said Starscream. "Technically."

Knock Out dug an elbow into his bared abdominal tubing. "Not helping!"

Smokescreen held up both hands, palms out to June in appeasement. "According to Optimus, everyone deserves -"

"Not him." June shook her head. "Not Megatron either. I don't know what you were thinking, letting him fly away like that. After everything he's done - to our world. To yours!"

Starscream couldn't help it. He laughed. June's head whipped around; she hit him with a scorcher of a glare.

"What?"

"You think they could've stopped him? Any of them?" He shook his helm. "Only one bot could ever go pede-to-pede with my Master. And he's dead."

Wheeljack snorted. "Only because I never got the chance."

"Big words," was Starscream's rejoinder, "for a bot who got taken out by a troop of vehicons when he first landed."

Wheeljack didn't appreciate the reminder. He stormed forwards. Knock Out backpedalled, gulping. "Please, if you're going to hit him, let me put him down first..."

He needn't have worried. Bulkhead dropped the lobbing ball hard enough to make the ground jump under Knock Out's pedes. He staggered forwards to intercept his Wrecker pal. "Wheeljack! Leave it. It's past."

Wheeljack shouldered Bulkhead off. His sneer was solely for Starscream. "I don't know why we're even helping this one. He'll fly back to the old bucket-head as soon as the doc clears him for take-off."

"Hardly!" Starscream trusted Megatron's claims of repentance as far as he could throw the mech in normal gravitation. "We didn't part on amicable terms."

Admittedly, no punches had been exchanged - something of a miracle. But Megatron had _brushed him off._ As if Starscream was nothing. As if all the centuries, everything that had passed between them, every poisoned word, hateful touch; every rough, unwanted interface; was nothing. As if he could shake off his sins and fly away.

It _wasn't fair._

"Like that's ever stopped you," Wheeljack continued. "We all know how it is."

Starscream frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Wheeljack," said Bulkhead again, tone warning. He was, as usual, ignored. Wheeljack leaned forwards, his helmet casting heavy shadows on his brows.

"You piss him off, run away, then crawl back begging as soon as the slag hits the fan. How long d'you think you'll have to suck his spike before he takes you back this time?"

Bulkhead groaned. "Wheeljack, seriously?"

Knock Out tensed up again. "Starscream?" he asked, quietly. Like it was only for Starscream to hear. Like he was... _concerned?_

Fool. Starscream had been fending off such taunts since before Smokescreen and Bumblebee's construction.

"Five breems," he said. "My Master never had much lasting prowess."

Lie - much to his valve's misery. But it felt damn good to say it, if only for the expression on Wheeljack's face.

"If he's talking about what I think he's talking about," said June, slowly, "then he'd better _not_ be talking about it in front of the children."

Jack groaned, clasping one of his weird, fleshy hands over his weird, fleshy face. " _Mom..._ "

"Huh?" Miko cocked her head, peering between Starscream and June. Then realization dawned. " _Oh._ Gross."

"Is he talking about interface?" asked the smallest - and, presumably, youngest.

The jaws of Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Smokescreen and Wheeljack hit their chests simultaneously, with a resounding cymbal crash of a clang.

"How does he - who told him about that?"

"He's far too young!"

"Ratchet told me," said the stunted fleshy, defensive. "I was asking about Cybertronian biology. He explained the science of it, and..."

"Robots _bone?_ " Miko rounded on Bulkhead. "Dude! Why didn't you tell me!"

Bulkhead looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Uh... It never came up?"

Smokescreen raised a hand. "Can we please stop talking about this? It was bad enough when Alpha Trion gave me the Talk..."

Miko waved her hands. "I mean, dude, c'mon! The robo-birds and the robo-bees! No offence, Bee."

Bumblebee was too busy mirroring Jack to notice, cupping his face between his servos.

Knock Out sniggered. The rumble of it travelled through Starscream's chest. "Congratulations, Commander. You've done a good job at distracting them. Shall we take our leave?"

Starscream cast the fuming June one last superior smirk. "I see no further need to suffer in the company of fools."

"Why, I'm astonished you think so highly of me."

Starscream secured his grip, blunt talons pressing just deep enough into Knock Out's transformation seams to register as a threat. "Spare me the self-aggrandizing. You're just the least worst conversation around."

 


	5. In which Starscream goes outside

They exited by way of the airlock, sealing the interior door before activating the exterior one, so as to preserve precious oxygen for the squishies. Frail creatures: their inferior biotics were only designed for the inhalation of one particular elemental gas, and they couldn’t even handle _that_ in high concentration. It was as if they were _designed_ to die.

And yet, Starscream’s every attempt to destroy them had been thwarted. Contrary little things. Their very existence irked him.

He couldn’t dwell on such matters, though – not as the seal broke and Knock Out stepped out (out _, out_ ) into the glorious, shifting, moving, living, breathing _air._

Starscream _sighed._ His armor loosened, plates releasing their stress-induced clamp on his protoform. He hadn’t even realized how tight they’d wound over the past few days, but that was what a weaponless convalescence in enemy territory would do for you. It was as if a pressure-release valve had engaged, relieving the tension before it reached the critical point of his mangled frame.

Were he in any better state of repair, he might be ashamed that his standards had sunk so low. How could this foul view invigorate him? The atmosphere around the well was far dustier then he preferred, lifting flakes of rust from the sea and freckling them lightly across his faceplates. How disgusting. He’d need a full decontami-shower after a single flight.

But no matter how rust-laden, wind was still _wind._ It kissed every inch of him as Knock Out knelt, lowering Starscream to the deck.

 _You are sparked to fly,_ that wind crooned; _and soon, you will do so again_. Dive forth off this deck, spread his wings and be free.

Just... not today.

Knock Out gyrated his hips, ostensibly to work the ache of carrying Starscream from the struts of his spine. Starscream doubted it. He was lightest aboard the _Nemesis_ , with Arcee’s two-wheeled exception. Knock Out was simply being his usual theatrical self.

Once he’d completed his stretch, Knock Out took a seat beside his former Commander. Presumptive - but since he was Starscream's ride back below decks, he could let it slide.

"This should stave off your flight madness for a few more cycles. How long do we need to stay out here?"

 _Forever._ "Joors."

Knock Out nodded to the horizon, where refraction made their star appear to have split open like a hatching egg, fire-red yolk devouring the world. "We get to watch the sunset. How romantic."

Starscream arranged himself a little more comfortably - or as comfortably as one could, with torn wings and a regrettable absence of leg. "You watched too many human movies. Rotted your processor. There is nothing remotely amor-inducing about a planet in orbit around a blazing ball of nuclear fusion."

“Killjoy. Come though, Starscream. Even you must admit that the view is spectacular."

"...Rather poor choice of words."

Knock Out scoffed, bumping their shoulders. "Then please, select a word of your own."

Starscream studied the wastes. The badlands where turbofoxes used to lick minerals from the metal; the galvanized prairie; the brittle, oxidized graveyard of the Great Rust Sea. This sector had been unsightly before the war, and was truly ghastly after it. "Broken."

"Marginally less optimistic as I was hoping." Knock Out dragged a knee up to his chest, looping a broad arm around it. "It never fails to astonish me, how we let our civil war consume us, no thought as to what we were destroying."

"That 'we' had better include the Autobots. Decepticons can't take _all_ the credit."

"It's not about blame.” Knock Out studied the sector of the skyline beyond which lay the ruins of Tarn. It was there the pair of them had first encountered one another, so many eons ago that Starscream's processor could only supply him with the grainiest image. The haughty commander who'd just staggered away from an encounter with Megatron; the cocky medic who Hook had assigned (presumably as punishment) to Starscream's berth.

They'd been young then, young and hopeful. The war was a bright new thing, shiny and revolutionary. None would've guessed what it would become: a ravenous pestilence that consumed lives and loved ones until there was nothing left to win.

What a lifetime ago that seemed.

"Speak for yourself," said Starscream. "If there's one thing I excel at, it's holding a grudge."

"Don't I know it! I expect my braining you with the immobilizer to be invoked at least once a decacycle, whenever you want something off me.” Knock Out waved out at the wastes. “You know what this view reminds me of?”

"No," said Starscream. "And neither do I care to."

Unfortunately, Knock Out had never needed prompting to enjoy the sound of his own voice. "The humans believe in this strange avian species - the phoenix. Its originates from one of the greatest religious texts of their modern era: the _Harry Potter_ series. I don't suppose you've heard of it."

"What part of 'neither do I care to' did you fail to understand?"

"The phoenix is highly combustible," Knock Out continued, as if he couldn’t hear. "Bit of a design flaw, if you ask me. Every thousand years or so, it bursts in a great gout of flame."

No choice but to indulge him. Starscream sighed. "What short-lived creatures."

"Indeed. But that's where it gets interesting. Once the bird has extinguished, it reanimates itself. Reborn from its own ashy embers."

That sounded suspicious. "Is dark energon involved?"

Knock Out shuddered. "I don't _believe_ so. But Earth did host the Chaos Bringer, so honestly, anything is possible." He nodded to the Rust Sea. A faint smile played at the corners of his lip plates. Nothing cruel or mocking or faux-innocent. Just a smile. Simple. Unassuming. An expression Starscream wasn't sure he'd ever seen Knock Out wear - certainly not since Breakdown's demise. "I enjoy the story. It allows me to look at this broken world of ours, and believe there is hope."

Starscream didn’t bother to hide the skepticism in his voice. "And you trust the _Autobots_ to see this resurrection through?"

Knock Out was silent for several beats. When he spoke, the words lacked their usual sardonic edge. "I spent the vast majority of my life caring about nothing but my finish. It's a new experience, to share a common cause with other Cybertronians." He glanced at Starscream. "You should try it, some time."

"Psh! I had a common cause with the Decepticon Army."

"That's rich! In all the years I had the misfortune of being under your command, there was only one thing you ever gave a flying frag about, and that was yourself."

Starscream sniffed. "Every mech has an automated need to preserve their own life. Your point is moot." When Knock Out scoffed, Starscream caught his arm. "You may fool the Autobots, doctor. But I am a harder mech to deceive. You joined their side - the winning side - in an act of simple self-preservation." Starscream smirked, tasting a victory. "Admit it. That makes _you_ no better than _me_."

Knock Out shook him off. "Does this _look_ like a victory to you, Starscream?" His outspread arms encompassed it all: the rusted earth, the bloody sky. "Everyone lost this war. Our entire _species._ We lost it millennia ago, before we ever uprooted to Earth, and our heads were shoved so far up our own afts that we didn't realize it." He glared at the dying sun. "This is all we have left. You want my advice?"

"Rarely, but that has yet to stop you giving it."

Knock Out leaned in. _"Stop trying to destroy it._ Or we will have no choice but to destroy you."

 _We._ It didn't even sound forced. Starscream shrunk back against the plates of the _Nemesis's_ flight deck. "Is that a threat?"

"A _warning._ The world's changing, Starscream."

"And you don't think me capable of changing with it." Starscream crossed his arms. "You already made that much clear."

The wind plucked gently at them both, as if it was trying to coax them out, away from the safety of their crashed warship, into this world Knock Out so loathed and loved. The doctor didn't seem to notice. His optics fixed on Starscream alone.

"I did," he said, softly. "Now prove me wrong."

Not what Starscream had been expecting. "What?"

"You love a challenge. _Prove me wrong_."

Ridiculous. Even if he _wanted_ to pursue such pointless feats... "How do you suggest I go about that?"

Knock Out's face plates were horribly earnest. "Come back to the Autobots, after your release. Of your own accord. Tell them that you will help them - help us. Help _Cybertron_."

Starscrean cocked his head to one side. "What _happened_ to you?"

"I changed. Like I said."

"I mean, did the Hatchet inflict a cortical psychic patch? Stick a medical prong into your audial and stir it around?"

Knock Out flung up both hands. "Why do I bother?"

"Don't ask _me._ You're the imbecile who succumbed to Autobot rhetoric. Who betrayed everything we fought for. Who _attacked_ me from _behind_ in the most cowardly fashion..."

"And there it is! The immobilizer! I _knew_ you were never going to let that go!" Knock Out subsided against the wall, sneering into the shifting aurora of the russet-lilac sky. "I should shove you off the edge. Claim the desire for flight overcame you. No one would know."

"Your theory lacks in one specific area: my legs. You would need to carry me to the precipice." Starscream fluttered his wings, relishing the tickle of wind over abused sensors. "Face it, Doctor. There is simply no way for you to end my spark without sullying your reputation."

"Oh, I'm sure I could come up with something, if I really put my mind to it. But before you tempt me into an act of homicide..." Knock Out looked entirely serious - a rarity, on that alabaster face. "I didn't just bring you up here to bicker in front of a scenic backdrop. When we rescued you from the Predacons' lair, I had you put yourself into stasis so that I could treat your wounds."

"Mm-hmm. I seem to recall you furthering the damage."

"Please! There was a _gratuitous_ quantity of your energon splashing about. I cannot be blamed for snipping the wrong wire in the mess..."

"Ratchet would never have made such a mistake."

"Well, Ratchet wasn't _there_ , was he? The point was, you should've died. Primus knows, you were injured severely enough. And yet, your spark beat on. Exsanguinated, ruptured, you survived, Starscream." Knock Out pressed his closer. The low sun stretched out his shadow, a lick of cool over Starscream's plating. "You _always_ survive."

Starscream grimaced. "If this is going to segue into a hymn to Our Lord and Savior Primus..."

"Do I strike you as the fundamentalist type?"

 _I don't know what you strike me as, anymore._ "What point do you wish to make, through the miracle of my continued existence?"

Starscream had never put much stock in the theory that Primus had a plan. For a start, Seekers had always paid equal dues to him and his twin, monstrous though Unicron might have been. Life emerged at the confluence of chaos and order; neither was superior to its opposite. The Iaconians' blind faith in Primus did not appeal to those sparked of the air, who knew that mastery of their element did not involve _control,_ but instead _flexibility:_ the wherewithal to adapt to whatever turbulence the winds sent your way.

And so, when Knock Out said, "You've been given another chance," Starcream's first instinct was to scoff. He fulfilled it, with pleasure.

" _Please._ If that's the truth, I've been given more chances than anyone."

"Then perhaps," said Knock Out, standing, "it's high time you did something with them."

"Where do you think you're going?" Red wax spilled over them, the sun laboring at half-mast. "It's not night!"

Knock Out brushed off his lower legs. "But this lighting clashes horribly with my paint. And, believe it or not, Starscream, I have better things to do than sit here and be reminded of why we were never friends."

Starscream scoffed again. "You know as well as I do that friends are a weakness, in times of war."

He considered bringing up Breakdown again; digging one of his edgeless claws in to see if he could still open that old wound. However, Knock Out had meant what he said about having a good imagination when it came to inflicting pain on a mech. Best not tempt fate.

Perhaps Knock Out saw something of Starscream's tamped-down intentions in his optics, for his faceplates cooled further, and he turned away. "And as I keep reminding you, that war is over. Enjoy your breeze, Starscream. I'll be back in a joor."

"Wait!”

Starscream wasn't quite sure why that word lurched from his mouth. In fact, it took him a while to realize it _did_ so, and then he clacked his jaws shut fast enough that he almost lost his glossa.

_Friend._

Such a pitiful concept. He did not require companionship. It was something he had prided himself on, after the demise of his Trine. That he hadn't crumbled, as most Seekers in his position would. That he had borne the sparkbreak. He hadn't clung - as Megatron had no doubt intended, when he first dispatched TC and Warp on that suicide mission - to his so-called _Master_ for comfort.

Instead, Starscream _built._ He built and he built and he _built_ ; vast walls of iron, a mile thick on each side. A fortress so sturdy there was only room for one inside.

He needed nobody. He _loved_ nobody. The epitome of Decepticon strength.

Ludicrous, that he should desire a further minute in this traitor's company. His reasons for recapturing his attention were purely pragmatic.

"Wait," he repeated, attempting to inject more authority into his voice. And Knock Out, for all his flaws, did.

To their rear, the well of Allsparks churned: a light eternal, blue as an Autobot's eyes. The shade was enhanced by Starscream's malfunctioning vision. He'd intended to request a fix earlier, but his missing legs and wings had ranked somewhat higher on his priority list. Perhaps it was time he brought it up.

"I believe the color-calibration of my optics to be in error. Might you attend to it, upon our return to the medbay?"

Knock Out's own ruby-red optics widened. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh what?"

"You didn't realize? I figured you would've caught a glimpse by now!"

"Not all of us are entranced by every reflective surface." The implication of Knock Out's words sunk in. "Wait - what are you saying? If you have disfigured me in any way..."

Knock Out sucked the inside of his cheekplates; an infuriating habit he liked to demonstrate whenever he refrained from sniggering. Once, Starscream would've taken that as incentive to carve a proper smile on his face, but as Knock Out was standing and Starscream lacked the ability, that might have to wait.

"Here," said the doctor, fishing a compact mirror from his subspace. He noticed Starscream's raised brows, and planted one hand on his hip, defensive. "A _spare._ For my alt-mode. Racing is not a sport without casualties."

"It's hardly a sport at all, on the ground. Maximum speeds of - what, three hundred kliks per hour? Quite pathetic." Still, he took the mirror. And regretted it, in short order. "By Primus! What have you _done_ to me?"

Knock Out snatched it back, presumably before Starscream’s new visage could smash it. "Don't be such a prima donna. Smokescreen pissed off Ratchet the day before we brought you in and got himself assigned to busy-work - altering the colors of every spare optic in storage."

"They’re... horrific."

"They’re your eyes.”

Starscream spun on him, glare poison. "And here I thought you gave a frag about aesthetics!"

"I _do!_ If it were up to me, I would've buffed your remains back to their usual lustre. It isn't right, seeing you so..." He shuddered, waving at Starscream's scuffed chest plate. " _Drab._ Bad enough that you insist on walking about paintless as a dead mech. If only you'd permit me to reintroduce a lick of color to that frame..."

He knew as well as Starscream did that was impossible. His fortress had no room for a new Trine, and a trineless seeker had no need of color. "Get to the point. How could you let this _happen?_ "

"Ratchet's insistence. _Triage,_ he calls it. Nowadays, I'm to deal with the most critical patients first, regardless of rank or how much I like them." Knock Out huffed. "It's quite stifling, truth be told. Sometimes, I think that if it were up to that old Hatchet, I would never wield a buffer again!"

Starscream rubbed his new azure optics. The obvious option was to gouge them out, but if what Knock Out said was true, he'd either get them re-fitted or be sent out into the world with a significant blind spot. That could mean the difference between continued existence and recapture by the Predacons - a price Starscream was not willing to pay.

"If _I_ ruled Cybertron," he grumbled, "I'd let you buff as much as you pleased."

"Now that _is_ marginally more tempting than your last proposition. Such a shame it wouldn't make up for your company."

"You despise me more than you love preening?"

Knock Out reassessed. "I don't think I despise _anyone_ that much. Nevertheless, the answer's still no. If you strike out alone, it will be _a_ _lone._ " He pressed the lock panel, activating the flight deck's external hatch. "But knowing someone is going to crash and burn isn't the same as wanting to watch it occur. Farewell, Starscream. You have a joor."

The door whooshed shut behind him. Starscream brought his helm to rest against the _Nemesis's_ flank with a resounding _clang_.

Foolish grounder. He thought Starscream so feeble? Well, Starscream would show him. He’d show them _all._ When he ruled this world, Knock Out would regret his allegiances. For now, he merely had to bide his time.

The wind sang sweetly over the _Nemesis's_ communications disc, upturned to beam its signal at the stars. Starscream shut his hideous optics, and let that lullaby carry his processor far, far away.

He didn't see the lights around the rim of the lock panel flicker off and on again. Dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot.

Almost as if someone - or something - was trying to catch his attention.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I'm not too fond of this chapter! I often struggle to write long dialogue scenes with only two characters to bounce off each other, and this took a lot of tweaking. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! To all those wondering: Skywarp and TC will be back, but the team have to retrieve Soundwave first.... I have a fairly long-term overarching plan for this fic; though a lot of the chapters are being written on the fly, they all work towards the same end.


	6. In which Rafael translates

Knock Out came back for him, as promised. The malfunctioning airlock panel began behaving again as soon as he approached. Just a glitch; Starscream paid it little heed.

Their return trip swung them through the mess hall once more. That was tolerable; Starscream had expected it.

What rankled was that Knock Out decided to dawdle.

"Wait here," he told Starscream - as if he had any choice in the matter! He plonked him on a chair, some distance from where a selection of Autobots enjoyed a sit-down meal.

Starscream grabbed the table in time to prevent his legless chassis slithering to the floor. "Where do you think you’re _going_?"

"To get a cube, of course. My life does not revolve around you, and my tanks most certainly do not."

"And you couldn't have done that _before_ you collected me?"

It was too late. Knock Out had already sashayed away.

Starscream adjusted his balance - far harder than usual, with wings in such a pitiful state and legs absent entirely. He was painfully aware of the glares boring into him. Judgmental, sneering. Mocking his suffering, his pain.

The dining group consisted of Ratchet, Smokescreen, Magnus - evidently cleared from the medbay - and the bulkier of the two Wreckers. The squishies accompanied them, but Starscream didn't consider them worthy of his attention.

Unfortunately, they didn't repay the courtesy.

"Hey, Screamer! You feeling any better? How’re the wings? Did you like your trip outside? Ratchet said you missed flying – that’s why Fowler got you the fan, right? How long’s it gonna be before you can fly again?”

Ugh. The stripey one. He should've known better than to save it, if it had taken his single, pragmatic act of mercy as invitation to converse. Perhaps his punishment, should it have died, would’ve been preferable.

"Does it ever shut up?" he asked the world in general.

"Sadly not," said Ratchet, at the same time Bulkhead snapped, "Don't talk to her like that!"

Starscream smirked. He might no longer be capable of strafing these fools with gun fire, but annoying them proved quite satisfying.

"Don't rise to it, Bulkhead," called Knock Out, returning with two cubes. He pushed one into Starscream's servos. "Drink up. Your tank's self-repair has been working overtime; you should be fuel-tight again."

Starscream treated the cube to a dubious sniff - then gagged and pushed it away. "How do you justify this? For all your claims of fair treatment, you intend to feed me _low-grade?_ "

Knock Out took a sip from his own cube and pulled a face, nudging Starscream's back towards him. "Suck it up. Everyone’s on the same rations – right Magnus?”

“Indeed,” rumbled the sixteen-wheeler. “Until Primus replenishes enough sub-surface deposits in Cybertron’s crust that we can set up a sustainable mining practice.”

Ratchet downed his own portion with no complaints. “You get used to it. Anyway, Starscream – what did you think you were being fed while you were on the intravenous drip?"

Starscream's tattered wings flared wide. "Are you trying to _poison_ me?"

Bulkhead snorted. "Don't tempt us.”

"Is low-grade unhealthy?" the smallest human wanted to know.

Ratchet shook his head. "All Cybertronic life forms can survive on low-grade energon. The taste is unpleasant, and it provides sub-par energy and nutrients, but a low-grade diet won't kill."

"Indeed," said Starscream. "Entire castes subsisted on it, back in the Golden Age.”

Ratchet glared. "Entire castes of which you were not part! I seem to recall the Vosian embassy coming under flak for hoarding high-grade."

"Because our frame-types _require_ it! Flight is _just_ a little more strenuous than you ground-pounding fools like to pretend."

"Luckily," said Knock Out, bracing himself for another sip, "you won't be flying for quite some time, as we've already established."

"Wait." Smokescreen held up his hand. "Starscream. You’re like… an energon Seeker, yeah?"

"I was _aerial commander_ of the Seekers! What's your - oh." A dark grin smeared over Starscream's faceplates. "I see. The _Nemesis_ is maintaining unnatural internal atmospheric conditions for your... fleshy compatriots, while in a low-power state. i presume this means energy has been diverted away from the scanners?”

Smokescreen’s pauldrons sunk. “They're malfunctioning, actually. Ratchet and Raf haven't been able to work out the glitch.”

“Cadet,” snapped Magnus. “It would befit you _not_ to give valuable information to the enemy.”

"Uh, yes sir! Sorry sir, won't happen again. Sir."

Starscream rolled his eyes. He’d never had much patience for mechlings, whether or not they’d spent several thousand years in stasis. “Without a supply of mid-to-high grade, there's no way to flush the ship’s system and reboot. It won’t be long before even you poor grounders get _very hungry indeed_." He examined his claws. "No need to fear. Once you release me, I'll scout out whatever energon our god has offered us. I might even leave you some – if I'm in a good mood."

There was a pause while the Autobots considered that.

"How do you plan on mining it?" asked the tallest of the squishie children - Jack. Starscream had quite enjoyed popping him in that test tube, scratching down the glass to make him squirm.

One day, he'd finish the job.

"The energon," Jack continued, shaking off his carrier when she grasped his arm. "When you find it - which you will, what with you being a fancy-schmancy _seeker_ and all - how do you intend to extract it?"

"He has a point," mused Knock Out. "Any drills left on Cybertron will have rusted away or be long obsolete."

Starscream ground his dentae. Perhaps he’d gotten a tad involved with  _plotting_ his escape, and had forgotten to consider all the _logistics_. Where was he supposed to find functional machinery on a dead world? Who - beside the Autobots - had the necessary equipment to help him mine?

Well. The answer was obvious, wasn't it?

Shockwave was far from Starscream's favorite mech, but needs must, and he had his uses. One of them being the laboratory tech he could place at Starscream's disposal. He was still out there - presuming the Predacons had not gotten their claws into him. _He_ would not reject the Decepticon cause!

"You're smirking," Knock Out stage-whispered.

Starscream hastily corrected his expression. "I - ah. The fleshy has found a flaw in my plan. How terribly short-sighted of me! It appears that my innate sensitivity to energon will be rendered pointless. I doubt there will be any deposits within scrabbling distance of my claws."

There was a long, awkward pause.

“He’s lying,” said Knock Out. “In case anyone was unaware.”

Starscream glared at him.

The smallest squishie tapped its chin. "Even if he’s lying, surely it’s in his best interests to help us? He could sense the deposits, and we could mine?"

Various noises of horror ricocheted around the room. Starscream was grateful for them; it meant he didn't have to add his own. "I'm afraid the votes have already been cast. I am to make my own way."

"Actually," said the squishie, irritatingly unawed by his presence, "we said you have to _want_ to change before we'd consider trusting you."

"We are _not_ trusting him," said June, hotly.

"On that," said Fowler, crossing his arms, "you and I can agree."

Knock Out knocked on Starscream's knuckles. "Bottoms up," he said, pointing to the untouched energon. "The matter processor finished the first of your legs, and the other will be complete by tomorrow. Considering the physical therapy regime I have worked out for you…” He glanced at the Autobots’ table. “…And your remarkable knack for making enemies, you're going to need all the energy you can get."

Starscream swilled the low-grade around the cube, not bothering to disguise his sneer. He did as Knock Out commanded, the bland fuel coating his intake like a mouthful of crude oil – but he certainly didn't enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

 

The leg-fitting went as well as could be expected. I.e., not very, with Knock Out as your attendant physician.

Following his trauma at Bulkhead’s pedes, he didn't want to test all of Starscream's reflex responses, lest an involuntary kick muss his paintwork. Starscream only coerced him into providing a thorough check-up with the threat that unless Knock Out did his job, those kicks would be entirely voluntary, and performed with gusto.

It was only afterwards, as he lay on his berth, fan purring to one side and matter processor humming on the other, halfway through his second leg, that Starscream noticed the light.

How long had it been fluttering for? It must've started after Knock Out left. He would've noticed (and complained incessantly about mechgraines, no doubt). But now, it seemed, whatever glitch ran rampant through the _Nemesis's_ energon-depleted systems was starting to affect power output too.

Starscream glared at the fluctuating beam. How dare it disturb him! Had he not suffered enough?

He lifted a hand to scratch at his new (wrong, _false_ ) optics, then forced it back down to his side. He stared at the beam some more, scowling in the vain hope it might submit to his authority and let him sleep.

No such luck. But there was a pattern to it. Flicker-flicker-flicker, _flash-flash-flash,_ flicker-flicker-flicker. Then repeat.

Same as on the airlock.

Starscream found himself tapping one claw against the disused cuffs on his medical berth to the beat.

"SOS?"

The door was only open a fraction, but that left enough space for one diminutive fleshy to sneak through. Starscream curled his claws into his fists. Were the Autobots mad, letting their pets wander so freely? He'd hoped to curry favor through his saving of Miko, and he had done – the trip to the surface had been a considerable boon. Certainly, one that would never have been offered, had their positions been reversed.

However, if the Autobots now thought him so pathetic that he could not harm a single squishy? Well, Starscream was sorely tempted to prove them wrong.

The human pottered closer. "That's what you were tapping. SOS, Save Our Souls. It's in Morse Code - do you know what Morse Code is?"

The only flaw being that there would be repercussions. Ones Starscream was not willing to face, not as the return of his mobility was finally within reach. "No. Neither does the light, I suspect."

"The… light?"

Starscream glanced up. The flicker was gone.

How odd. This had better not be a glitch in his optics. If his new eyes were faulty, he would carve out that fool medic's in penance.

"It's nothing," he said. "Go away."

The child - Raphael, was it? - had as much respect for his wishes as anyone else aboard this ship. He tiptoed closer, oversized shoes making _shh-shh-shh_ sounds on the floor. "Morse Code is what humans used to communicate with each other before we started using radios and telephones. It's still really helpful for sending coded messages and stuff. Don't Cybertronians have anything similar?"

Starscream heaved himself onto his side, the better to scowl down on this verminous creature who dared trespass on his sanctuary. "Why would we have need of such primitive technology, when we have comm receivers and broadcasters built into processors?"

"Oh - well, yes. I was just wondering. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not _upset!_ "

"But you seemed..." Raphael trailed off. "Anyway," he said, a little lamely, before Starscream could dare hope he'd leave him alone. "That's what it means. SOS. It's a cry for help, which is why I came, but you obviously don't need it, so..." He pointed both fingers for the door, forcing a grin. "I'll, uh, just be going. Bye."

And so, he went.

 

* * *

 

 

SOS. 

Why would a light flash when he was alone, and stop as soon as he gained company?

Starscream had always tended towards paranoia (healthy suspicion, he preferred to term it). And now, as the child's shadow receded and that constant, patient flicker-flash began again, he suffered a distinct tingle in his spine-struts: the uncanny certainty that somewhere, somehow, he was being watched.

_SOS. SOS. SOS._

Starscream shut his eyes. The flicker continued, bright enough to play havoc with his photosensory net.

_SOS. SOS. SOS. SOS._

A cry for help, the boy had said. But who needed _his_ help: one-legged, all-but-useless, recuperating in the surgical room Megatron had left him in one time too many?

And who had the patience to send that same signal on repeat?

_SOS. SOS. SOS-SOS-SOS-SOS-SOS-SOS._

Starscream turned over, burrowing into the soft, malleable metal of his berth. He wrapped an arm over his head, and chased recharge with renewed determination.

_SOS-SOS-SOS. SOS..._

No, it was useless! He couldn't drop off like this, not with that blasted light strobing above him!

Starscream attempted to transform his blaster, intending to shoot the fragging thing. His transformation seams hissed; his plating rose an inch before clutching his protoform once more.

Of course. The Autobots had disarmed him; impaired his T-Cog enough that he could not access his weaponry.

_SOS. SOS. SOS. SOS._

Starscream raised a blunt claw. "I will scratch you out of the ceiling myself, so help me."

The message continued, undaunted. _SOS... SOS… SOS…_

Only - was it Starscream's imagination, or was it slowing? Becoming more sluggish, losing its rapid-fire blink?

As if the sender was losing energy. As if they were running out of time.

Starscream crossed his arms. "Good riddance," he told the ceiling. "Now let me go the frag to sleep."

 

* * *

 

 

By morning, the message had ceased. Starscream actually smiled. "Much better," he said, and rolled over so the fan could tickle his tortured ailerons on the other side.

Above him, the light flickered. Once. Twice. Thrice. _S._

"Oh, Primus no."

Flash...

Flash.....

Flash........

Each spaced longer apart than the last.

 _O,_ Starscream's processor provided, without his permission.

The last flickers began, barely there, weak little sputters, like the pulse of a dying spark. Starscream held up his hands. "If you're after a hero, I'm afraid you've got the wrong person."

"Talking to yourself?" enquired Knock Out, abominably cheerful for this soon post-recharge. "Finally going senile in your old age?"

Starscream scowled at him. "I wish. It would be preferable to another cycle with your new Autochums.” He waggled his functional leg. " Where's the next one? You said the matter processor would be finished by now."

The strange case of his fluttering light could wait. And if the mysterious message sender had run out of time - well. They'd hardy be able to disrupt Starscream's recharge any more, would they?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WHO WANTS TO (lovingly) SMACK STARSCREAM**


	7. In which the Groundbridge opens twice

 

"You said the light didn't know what SOS meant."

The small human had slipped its minder. That was unsurprising; the Autobots had proven themselves incapable of keeping their pets on the leash. What Starscream found more inexcusable was that the creature had decided physical therapy was a spectator sport.

"That's it," crooned Knock Out in his audial. "Another step - you can do it."

Starscream dug his elbow into the medic's flashy side-plating. "Do not speak to me as if I am a sparkling!"

Knock Out rubbed his new dent, but he didn't drop Starscream. Not yet. "Well, you _are_ learning to walk again. Fitting new limbs is a complex procedure! The processor needs time to adapt, ensure all neural receptors are firing at optimum -"

"As I well  _know_!" snapped Starscream. "If you remember, dear Doctor, you and I have been here many times before!"

Knock Out's mouth thinned, for some unfathomable reason. "Yes. Every time you spoke back to Megatron. Now take another step, _Herr Kommandant,_ before I push you."

The human cleared its throat. "Excuse me? Starscream?"

At the very least, this pest used his actual designation, rather than that Primus-damned moniker:  _Screamer._ Only two mechs had ever gotten away with calling him that. Those privileges extended to Trine alone, and then only when Starscream was in a very good mood.

Starscream supposed he could do the puny creature the honor of a reply. "What?"

The human pushed its optical-enhancers up the bridge of its protruding nasal ridge. Starscream had to zoom in to see its face; otherwise it was just a small and entirely squishable pink blur. "Last night. When you were tapping out SOS on your bed."

"SOS?" Knock Out cocked his helm. "Like the ABBA song?"

The squishie blinked. "You know _ABBA?_ "

"Of course! I have a radio, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Starscream interrupted before they progressed too far from any semblance of a topic: "What about my tapping?"

The human wrung its little hands. "It's just... something's been bothering me for a while. Something we did. And I just wanted to be sure before I... before I try something."

"You said the word 'something' several times," Starscream observed. "Which in turn tells me nothing."

"I should really talk to Bee and Magnus first... But can you tell me?" The squishie's voice dipped. "Was your light flashing SOS?"

"Impossible," said Knock Out. "It's hooked into the main _Nemesis_ circuit-system. Though we’re losing power, it shouldn't start flashing while the organic life support remains functional."

"That's what I'm thinking," said the human. "One big glitch. A big, creepy glitch who might need our help." It drooped. "Aw. Why does doing the right thing have to be so _dangerous_?"

"Wrong mechs to ask, I think," said Knock Out, shooting Starscream a smirk. By the time they glanced back, the tiny patter of feet had faded, and the human - Rafael, Starscream vaguely recalled - was gone. Knock Out clapped his servos. "Well, now that diversion is out the way - shall we continue? Three times around the room, unassisted."

"Slave driver," hissed Starscream. But he took his first step, then his second, and his third, hip gyros zinging as his processor repaired the snapped connections, returning sensation to his high-heeled pedes.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Smokescreen thundered into the medbay, shouting that Starscream had been summoned to the bridge to see Magnus, stat; Starscream was halfway through his final circuit. He plodded along with a modicum of his usual elegance and poise.

Admittedly, his pelvis ached, and he dreaded training himself back into full flight-flexibility. He wasn't as young as he used to be, as Knock Out liked to remind him.

But he was walking! Of his own accord! And he intended to walk all the way to the bridge to prove it, regardless of Knock Out's intentions to mother him.

"Get _off_ ," he growled, slapping Knock Out's servo from his hip.

"Ow! You were wobbling! I saw you wobble!"

"I was _not_ wobbling. I have smaller pedes than you; ergo, I have a different walk cycle!"

"Guys," snapped Smokescreen. "This is important! Hurry _up!_ " Starscream and Knock Out both stared. Smokescreen strode on for another few steps, then reluctantly drew to a halt. "Right. I'm talking to two of the highest ranking Decepticon officers, neither of whom are used to being ordered around."

"Ex-Decepticon," said Knock Out, but it sounded like it was mostly of habit.

"Right, right. Well, can we pick up the pace? _Please?_ "

Knock Out and Starscream eyed each other. 

"Well," said Knock Out, with a little shrug. "He _did_ ask nicely."

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus appraised the lot of them, presiding over the Bridge with hand and claw clasped behind his broad back. "We have a problem."

"Soundwave's stuck in the shadow realm," piped Rafael. "And I really think we should get him out."

Magnus frowned. "I was getting to that."

The tiny fleshling shrunk on itself. “Right. Sorry.”

"I _have_ been wondering where Old Sounders got to," said Knock Out. "I mean, for starters, I'd never get away with calling him 'Old Sounders' before without a tentacle _somehow_ finding its way under my feet. Right, Starscream?"

Starscream ignored him. He had no desire to reminisce about the glory days, certainly not with the traitor who’d cost him his war. "What is this... realm of shadows?"

"Well," said Ratchet. "You may recall a certain incident with an undead heavyweight Seeker-class called Skyquake."

"When Optimus shot off your arm,” called Bumblebee. Snitch.

Knock Out smacked Starscream's shoulder, setting him off-balance. "You told me that was Megatron! Oh - wait, you're really wobbling this time."

Starscream stabilized himself, using Knock Out as a crutch. Then he returned the shove, and kept shoving until Knock Out backed out of reach, grumbling that he’d just been trying to help.

"Yes," he gritted, glowering at Bumblebee. "I find the incident hard to forget."

Arcee, leaning against the wall in one corner of the bridge, arms crossed over her narrow chest, let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

Starscream glared at her, then turned back to the squishie. "Your explanation of the Shadow Realm - proceed."

Rafael tapped his forefingers together. "So," he began, glancing back at his friends, "it started when we opened two groundbridges in close proximity..."

 

* * *

 

 

"Wait, wait, wait." Knock Out waved both hands, cutting off Rafael, who was nearing the end of his spiel. It had been a tolerable lecture - the creature might have a significantly smaller cranial capacity than any Cybertronian, but as far as humans went, it could at least string together a sentence on the subject of space-time warp procedures and quantum mechanics. "You're saying Soundwave might be here _right now?_  In _this room?_ "

Rafael nodded. "Potentially."

"So he heard me call him _Old Sounders?_ Because if so, I meant 'old' as a term of endearment and venerability! Not old like Ratchet." One corner of his mouth twitched up. "Or Starscream." Starscream smacked him again, for that. "Ow, _ow!_ We really have to talk about you channelling Megatron when you're angry."

"...Anyway,” Magnus continued, after a pause long enough to curb Knock Out's mirth, “our concern is that Soundwave may be causing the malfunction in the ship's systems that prevents us from scanning for more energon."

Arcee frowned. "And so far, he's only attempted to communicate with..."

Starscream raised his chin. "The last Decepticon." Perhaps there was one loyal soldier left on this ship!

"Exactly." Arcee shook her head. “We can't let the guy who's been sabotaging us waltz back into our reality. We don't know if he still holds loyalty to Megatron."

Starscream narrowed his eyes. That was where Arcee was mistaken. If Soundwave had overheard their Master's announcement of his intentions, then finally - finally! - the faceless mech might have realized the truth: that he had no true leader but Lord Starscream!

"You're smirking again," muttered Knock Out, out of the side of his mouth.

"So, there we have it," said Magnus, as Starscream scrambled to amend his expression. "A potential enemy is trapped within an alternate pocket dimension, aboard this very ship. And, considering the nature of his transmissions, it is likely that he needs our help."

"We couldn't interact with anything but the ground in the shadow realm," explained Rafael, with a shiver. "Chances are, he hasn't been able to eat."

Knock Out made a quick calculation. "But that would mean that he hasn't refueled in..."

Rachet beat him to it. "Four weeks. Enough time for his systems to hit critical low. _Especially_ if he's been plugging into the ship in a bid to catch our attention." His mouth formed a thin gray line. "If we're going to make a decision, we need to make it soon. He is running out of time."

"Okay." Arcee pushed off the wall, one hand on her hip. Her glare ate into Starscream. "I dislike the idea of leaving a mech to starve as much as the next Autobot. But we have to consider the fact that this is _Soundwave._ He is _not_ to be underestimated, and the fact that he has only attempted to contact Starscream does _not_ bode well for him having had a sudden change of spark."

"I'm with Arcee," said Wheeljack. "The afthole can rot. Hell, throw Screamer in there with him, if he wants his company so badly.”

"Not like you to skip out on a punch-up," Miko said, tossing a few jabs at the air (while Starscream backed behind Knock Out, torn wings quivering low). "C'mon, Wrecker. Why not open the portal and smack Sounders about if he fights back?"

"No," said June. "It's too much of a risk, with the children here."

"Mom, c'mon." Jack flicked his strange floppy growths - hair, it was called - from his optics. "We're the ones who took him down in the first place!"

Starscream's jaw dropped. He peeped over Knock Out's bulky shoulder plates. " _You?_ You defeated _Soundwave?_ "

"We sure did!" Miko slammed her tiny fist into her equally minuscule palm. "And we'll do it again, if we gotta. C'mon, Magnus! Open the portal! Let us at him!"

"If," said Ratchet, "there's anything left to fight."

A sober silence weighed on them all. Then, with typically perfect timing, the overheads blinked.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Starscream groaned. "Will you _please_ just rescue him already? I've been putting up with this every time I'm alone, and it's given me helm-ache."

" _That's_ the only reason you want to fish him out the Shadow Realm?" Miko shook her head. "Cold, dude. Cold."

Starscream didn’t understand her criticism. He and Soundwave had fought side by side for the better part of two million years, but they had never been anything approaching _close._ Reluctant allies, yes, but most of the time, they barely bordered on civil.If the mech was willing to bend the knee to Starscream's rule, it'd be a bonus; but if his ordeal had left him too weak to fend off the Autobots…

Well, Starscream didn't volunteer to _carry_ him all the way to Shockwave. The last thing he needed right now was deadweight. If Soundwave couldn't stand alone, he was  _on_ his own.

Arcee sneered at Starscream. "He doesn't get an opinion. He's not in on the vote."

"What about me?" Smokescreen demanded. "Because I say we fish him out." He rubbed up and down his arms. "It's disturbing enough knowing that Soundwave has been _watching_ us this whole time. Should he die in the Shadow Realm, his spark may never reach Primus. It'll be trapped on this alternate Cybertron, yearning for vengeance for all eternity..." He stopped when he realized just how many bots and humans were staring at him. "Uh, sorry. Too many horror movies.”

“The mech has a point.” Knock Out shrugged in response to Starscream's raised brows. “What? Breakdown was quite fond of the drive-in theater. Got me hooked, as well." He turned to the humans. "Say what you want about fleshies, but you lot _do_ have remarkably twisted little minds."

"Thank you!" said Miko. It sounded like she meant it.

Starscream found his processor replaying the melancholia that flickered across Knock Out’s face as his lipplates shaped his late partner’s name. He dismissed the footage into his short-term memory banks. That was hardly relevant, right now.

Bulkhead raised a hand. "For the record, I'm with Arcee and Jackie. We don't need another con running around."

“Not you too,” whined Miko, while Starscream scowled at his newly fitted legs.

"I'm not up to running yet, thanks to the boorish practices of this so-called medic."

"Shame," drawled Arcee, while Knock Out sputtered in indignation (far better, Starscream couldn't help but think, than the sorrow that preceded it). "That’d make target practice more interesting."

Bumblebee interrupted Starscream’s snarl. "C’mon, guys! We're all forgetting the most important thing."

Magnus sighed. "And what would that be, Warrior?"

Bumblebee spread his servos. " _What would Optimus do?_ "

There was a long pause. Then the shoulders of every Autobot slumped.

"Ugh," said Smokescreen, trudging towards the Groundbridge. "You know, I _really hate_ being the good guys sometimes?"

Starscream couldn't believe it. "You're... actually going ahead with this?"

Smokescreen tugged on the lever, a green gyre gushing to life at the center of the room. "Even though it's in your best interests, not ours? Yeah, I _know._ "

Arcee kicked moodily at the floor. "I don't like this."

"None of us do, I assure you," said Ratchet. Then, brandishing a furious finger at the open air: "You hear that, you sparkless turborat? _We're not doing this because we like you!_ "

"Wait, wait." Fowler stepped forwards. "This is _incredibly_ reckless. You're risking us all - on what? The words of Optimus Prime? A dead mech?”

Arcee stomped to the far console. "A mech who gave his spark to save our world," she growled. "Someone grab the humans, before they're sucked into the cataclysmic convergence?"

"The _what now?_ " asked June - then proceeded to shriek at a pitch that threatened to blow Starscream's audials when Knock Out moved towards the mezzanine. "No! Stay away from us!"

"Someone who's never kidnapped and-or tortured-slash-threatened-to-murder the humans," Arcee corrected. Bulkhead fulfilled those duties, while Knock Out raised both servos.

"Sure, sure. Not like I wanted their gross fleshy paws on me anyway. So there." Despite the words, he sounded a touch miffed. Idiot.

Starscream slunk forwards. "Someone will need to traverse the portals. To ensure our... old friend, is alive."

Magnus’s optics narrowed. “It won’t be you.”

"What? Of course not! You think I'd step foot into that parallel plane? After the Wrecker threatened to shut off the portal and lock me in there forever? To starve to death with  _Soundwave_ for company?" Starscream shuddered at the thought.

Arcee stroked her chin. "You know, maybe he _should_ go first..." Magnus glared. "Kidding. I'm kidding. Mostly."

"My point," said Starscream, valiantly resisting the urge to shudder, "is that we should send a medic through. Someone Soundwave knows. Someone he has reason to trust."

Knock Out blinked. Then realization dawned. "No. No! Are we forgetting that he's been watching our little dramas play out? I’m a defector, and Soundwave is well aware!" His voice dipped low. "And you _know_ what Lord Megatron ordered us to do to defectors..."

"Yes," purred Starscream. "I seem to remember you liked it." Sadist.

"Yes – well!” Knock Out’s faceplates heated, expanding with a little _ping_. “I had very poor role models. You among them _._ " He pointed to Ratchet. " _He_ should go first. He's far more experienced in the field."

"But oh," said Ratchet, straight-faced. "I'm not sure if my rusting knee joints can carry me through."

"You know, when I called you old earlier, I was trying to annoy Screamer."

Starscream flexed his claws. He intended to have a nice long chat with Knock Out and install some respect for his elders later.

"Why don't the pair of you go together?" Jack suggested.

 "Knock and Doc!" Miko grinned. "With Jackie for back-up!”

Wheeljack unsheathed one of the blades he kept strapped to his spinal struts. "Sure, sounds fun."

Ratchet looked between him and Knock Out (who was still glowering at Starscream for volunteering him). "Fun is not the word I'd choose."

"Not sure you know the meaning of it, Doc."

Meanwhile, Starscream answered Knock Out's glare with the sweetest of his sycophantic smiles: the one he reserved for Megatron in a merciful mood. "Safe trip, Doctor. Better you than me."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Of course, it all went horribly wrong.

Knock Out, Ratchet and Wheeljack paused only long enough to gather several cubes of low-grade and the necessary medical equipment to bypass Soundwave’s intake, should the mech be in no position to feed himself. They headed towards the point where the portals’ energies merged – the  _cataclysmic convergence,_ as Ratchet had termed it. Once they passed it, their bodies twisted in hideous, abnormal ways, contorting into shapes as ugly as Quintessons before dissolving entirely.

Starscream had felt the pull as soon as the second groundbridge activated: a hungry suck at his extremities, as if he were spiralling around a singularity, gravitation dragging him in. He was more than happy to hang back as the trio entered, though he had found himself watching the area where Knock Out’s red shoulders had vanished for a considerable time.

(“Worried?” Smokescreen enquired. He narrowly avoided a scratch to the faceplates.)

For all of a minute, there was peace.

Then Wheeljack exploded from the convergence in a shower of energon.

He emitted a mechly shriek that Starscream wished he’d saved to his processor so he could enjoy it again later, on repeat. His low-grade offering followed him, the still-sealed cube smacking him square in the helm.

“Jackie!” Bulkhead dashed forwards, the fleshlings still clinging to one of his vast palms. “What happened in there?”

Wheeljack sat, wincing, and wiped energon from his scarred cheek. “Wave is friendly as ever.”

“He hasn’t eaten in a month!” piped Miko. “How could you lose against a starving bot?”

“Freak’s more machine than mech. It’s like he doesn’t care that his systems are halfway to shutdown.” Wheeljack readied his sword, the blue of his optics reflected in its edge. “Docs were pinning him down. Since neither have followed me out, I guess they restrained him.” His glare slid to Starscream. “The con should come in, after all. Might be able to talk him down.”

 _No_   _thank you._ Starscream did  _not_ like the way reality warped around the place where the groundbridges kissed.

He took a step to the rear. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because if the docs don’t stick a transfer needle in him soon, he’s dead. And he seems like the sort to fight us to the end.”

The Wrecker may have a point. Starscream turned to the fleshies. “Soundwave can hear me?”

Rafael nodded. Well, that was something at least. Starscream drew his shattered wings up high behind him: an approximation of the great aerial Winglord he had once been.

“Soundwave! This is your Commander speaking. You are to desist your resistance immediately. Accept medical help from the Autobots – that is an  _order_.” He turned to Magnus, brow raised. “Satisfied?”

Ratchet was next out the portal, an earsplitting shriek rattling the walls as the old medic’s boxy chassis scraped along the bridge’s scar-scuffed floor.

“Uh,” said Rafael. “I don’t think that worked.”

“Stating the obvious, much?” Miko leaned as far from the cage of Bulkhead’s fingers as she dared. “You alright, Doc?”

Ratchet pressed a servo to the side of his head, blinking rapidly as if to dispel dizziness. “Fine, fine. He packs quite the punch.”

What did he expect? An ex-Kaonite gladiator who went pede-to-pede with Megatron in the arena - Soundwave was anything but an easy opponent.

“Well?” snapped Starscream, hands on his hips. “Are you going to return Knock Out, too?”

_Crash._

There came his medic, bowled helm over heels. Knock Out made gargly noises, scrabbling at the energon transfer line Soundwave had somehow noosed around his throat.

Fool. Starscream left him to it.

“Honestly,” he spat, turning in a circle, uncertain of where Soundwave had situated himself for this last stand. “Of all the mechs I didn’t expect to act like a sparkling throwing their toys from the perambulator! Megatron is  _gone_. He has  _deserted_  his troops, he has deserted _the cause_. It would befit you to accept this turn of events, and  _follow my rule_.”

Smokescreen made nervous optics at Magnus. “This is precisely what we  _didn’t_ want to happen, right?”

Starscream flapped a hand at him. “Please. It’s not like he’s going to listen to  _you lot._ If you plan on coming through the portal, Soundwave, now would be a good time. We only have the energon to keep this active for another minute, and Primus knows I’m not heading in there to fetch you myself.”

Silence. Then slowly, tremulously, a tentacle probed at the gap between worlds.

“Here we go,” said Arcee, transforming her blasters. Bumblebee, Magnus and Smokescreen copied her, while Wheeljack and Ratchet readied their blades, and Knock Out won his battle with the transfer tubing, stomping it into the floor as if it were a venomous snake.

“Ha-ha!”

“Knock Out!” hissed Ratchet. “I  _needed_ that!”

“Quiet,” said Magnus. “He’s coming.”

And so, the Decepticons’ feared Communications and Surveillance Officer made his return to the world of the living. Staggering. Weak. Barely upright.

His tentacles dragged across the floor. He managed one, two, three steps, before his legs folded from under him and he crashed to his knees. 

Quite a good look for him, though Starscream would prefer it if he bowed to his rule willfully, rather than because of the deficit of fuel in his tank.

“Honestly," he spat, as Bumblebee darted forwards and slammed the groundbridge lever down, the portals disengaging with a disturbing suction-sound. "Using human Morse. What were you  _thinking?_  How could you expect me to understand that? You have no one to blame for your predicament but yourself.”

“It was probably the only way he  _could_ communicate,” said Rafael. “The shadow realm scrambles all ingoing and outgoing signals.”

Soundwave’s visor glowed a watered-down lilac, duller than Starscream had ever seen it. Since none of the Autobots seemed primed to move, unless it was to activate a blaster, Starscream snatched the cube from Wheeljack and stomped to his former fellow officer, forcing it into his spindly hands. “Here. Drink this before your spark joins the well. I need all the allies I can get.”

“Megatron is gone,” Soundwave replayed. Starscream scowled.

“Enough of that. You know I hate it when you speak to me in my own voice.”

“Where?” asked an old, grainy clip of Knock Out. Starscream ground his dentae.

“Away. Off-world, most likely. It hardly matters. He left you, he left me. He wants nothing more to do with this war he birthed.”

Soundwave swirled the low-grade under his visor. Starscream couldn’t help but notice how intensely all the Autobots and humans were watching. No doubt, all hoped for a glimpse of the elusive face beneath the mask.

Starscream looked forwards to their disappointment.

“ _Lord_ Starscream,” purred the Knock Out of a solar-cycle hence, back in the glory-days of conspiracy against Megatron. His shape glitched across Soundwave’s dull visor,  dipping into a smirk-laden bow.

Starscream lifted his chin. “Indeed.”

Knock Out raised a servo. “Can you not use my footage either? It  _is_ rather disturbing.”

Soundwave's helm twisted to face him. “I’m a defector!” he parroted, in Knock Out’s voice. “And Soundwave knows it!”

“Enough of this!” Magnus banged his claw-hand on the wall, the boom ringing in Starscream's audials. “Cease this fraternisation! We saved Soundwave’s life in Optimus’s name, but I will not permit the Decepticon faction to reform before my very optics.” He glowered at Soundwave. “You are surrounded, mech. Finish your energon and prepare yourself for transit to the brig.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “You can’t keep him locked up. He’ll hack any system aboard!”

Soundwave uncapped one of his feelers, as if in demonstration, the inner tendrils squirming like maggots in a rotten organic. Then he dunked it into the energon cube.

“Ugh,” whispered Jack, as the level of the liquid lowered. “That’s not what I expected.”

“Disappointing,” Miko decreed. “But kinda awesome, all the same. Y'know. In a gross sort of way.”

The energon drained, sucked up through a series of internal pumps to settle in Soundwave’s tank. A glimmer of light returned to his visor.

“We sent out a broadcast,” a miniature version of Knock Out explained to the bedbound Starscream. The scene was viewed from the side, over Ratchet’s shoulder. The doctor shuddered, rubbing at the back of his neck; Starscream resisted the urge to copy him.

It  _was_ rather disconcerting, the knowledge that Soundwave had been…  _watching,_ this whole while. Observing. Gathering intelligence - for what purpose, Starscream couldn't say.

“However," continued Knock Out's virtual rendition, "the scattered denizens of Cybertron have yet to respond to our call.”

“We’re aware of this,” said Arcee, frowning. “What does it have to do with anything?”

Soundwave turned his empty face to hers, rewinding Knock Out’s speech. “The scattered denizens of Cybertron have yet to respond to our call.”

Wheeljack licked the last of the energon leaking from his split lip. “Does this thing play any other tunes?”

“Wait!” Rafael’s voice carried through the room, bouncing between the bots. “You’re the telecommunications expert, Soundwave." He stood between Bulkhead's fore and middle digits, gripping the textured black mesh for balance as he searched Soundwave's visor as if he'd find the mech's intentions inscribed in its reflective black shell. "Are you… Are you saying you’ll help us?”

Cybertronians had no need to hold their breath, seeing as they didn’t technically  _breathe._ Their intakes functioned only to cool their internal hardware, when required.

Nevertheless, Starscream could’ve sworn that the resultant silence wasn’t broken by a single ex-vent. It was so quiet you could, as Skywarp used to crudely put it, hear a Turbofox use its wasteport.

Then Soundwave inclined his helm, and chaos broke out anew.


	8. In which Soundwave makes a call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented! Y'all really cheered me up about taking so long to update last time. xx As a show of gratitude, and because I've written (mumblemumble) 8000 words on this fic over the past two days, have a new chapter!

“Stupid,” was Ratchet’s verdict. “Reckless, foolhardy. Not even Optimus would condone…”

“Necessary,” countered Bumblebee. “What other choice do we have?”

That was all Starscream heard of the resultant kerfuffle, since Arcee realised it might not be wise to let an enemy eavesdrop and ordered Knock Out to escort Starscream back to the medbay before she dragged him there by his broken wings.

Starscream, for once, didn’t concern himself with her threats. Why, he was practically skipping!

Lord Starscream. _Lord Starscream!_

Soundwave had confirmed his new allegiances, and they lay with _him_ , leader of the Decepticons!

Starscream resented having only one mech under his command – but if he had to pick, well. You couldn’t find a loyaller mech than Soundwave if you scoured the whole of the surviving Cybertronian race.

“Well, Knock Out?” he purred, once they reached the operation theatre he now called home. He hopped up on the examination table and waggled his winglets, luxuriating in the spin of the fan. “Is your side still the winning one?”

“There are no sides,” said Knock Out, as usual, but there was no trace of his usual smirk. Why, if Starscream didn’t know better, he might think the good medic sounded _uncertain._

Starscream sprawled contentedly on one side, stretching out his new legs. “Time will tell, dear Doctor. Time will tell.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What’s he doing out of the medbay?” snapped Arcee the next morning, her path having crossed with Starscream and Knock Out on their way to the morning refuel session.

“He,” said Starscream, “needs to eat.”

Arcee pointed at Knock Out. “And he has his own butler service.”

“Hey,” protested Knock Out, but neither of them paid him very much attention.

Starscream drew himself up. “He also recently had his legs replaced, and needs to acclimatize himself to their use. Medically recommended practice – am I correct, Doctor?”

Knock Out rubbed his forehead chevron like it pained him. “Unfortunately.”

Arcee’s mouth thinned to a gash. “Stay away from the bridge,” was all she said. “Soundwave may be boosting our transmission signals, but he’s not an Autobot, and you certainly aren’t.”

Starscream donned a faux-affable smile. “Not to worry. Synthesis of my wings is almost complete. Once that is finished and Soundwave has replenished his fuel levels, we will be on our way.”

To find Shockwave. To start their hunt for energon. To greet any new arrivals on this planet, and demonstrate that the Decepticons were still a force to be reckoned with.

Arcee tightened the cross on her arms. “You think we’re letting him leave with _you_?”

"What alternative do you propose? To keep one of us as your _prisoner_ for all eternity?"

"Sounds about right."

Starscream clasped his servos. "Oh, but what would _Optimus_ do?"

"Kill you," said Arcee bluntly. "If you attempted to destroy this peace we have built."

She took in the sudden tension in Starscream’s expression, the rise of his brows and the wide glow of his new blue optics. No twitch of a grin on her lipplates; she wasn’t trying to rile him for her own amusement. She meant every word she said.

"Don't mistake kindness for weakness," Arcee continued. "Optimus offered every bot the opportunity to change, but it was up to them what they did with it. If you keep fighting this finished war, that's on _you_. As is anything that comes next."

"Arcee?" Bumblebee poked his striped helm around the corner. "What's going – oh. Please don't eviscerate him in the hallway. Soundwave fixed our sensors, and we just got our first energon ping. Drones are gonna be split between the construction site and the new mine – if you make a mess, you’ll have to clean it yourself."

Arcee stepped away from Starscream. "Oh, I'm good with a mop."

"How," whispered Knock Out. "How did she make _that_ sound like a _threat?_ "

"Depends on where the mop is gonna get shoved.” Bumblebee waved his two-wheeled compatriot over. “C'mon, Arcee. Need you at the mine site. All hands on deck."

Arcee sent Starscream a final scowl as she stalked after Bumblebee, back towards the bridge. "I mean it. You have another chance. You squander that, and the next time you wind up on the bad side of the Predacons, we leave you to bleed."

Starscream waited until she had passed from his sight. Then he let himself ex-vent, battered wings hanging at their lowest point.

One thing was evident: if he wanted an audience with Soundwave, he couldn't rely on the bots to provide it.

He had to engineer it himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

This might prove tricky. The Autobots had tightened their security since the return of Starscream's extremities. The door to his quarters in the medbay was locked, clamped, hermetically sealed, and wedged in its rim so tightly that a shuttle-class Seeker couldn't pry it free.

That didn't matter. Starscream turned his gaze to the ceiling, where he knew cameras had been inserted behind every light panel after his and Knock Out made their last bid for takeover.

"Hello Soundwave," he said, with a velveteen purr. "By now, our captors must have powered down for the night. Their guard is lowered. Perhaps you'd lend a servo to a comrade in need?"

One klikka. Two, three, four.

Starscream was starting to feel a little stupid for talking to himself (Soundwave was still recovering from a severe energon depletion, after all – perhaps the old mech was recharging too?) when - there!The panel flashed green, illuminating the paintless metal of Starscream's face.

Oh, he could _cackle._ Autobot imbeciles! The Shadow Realm may have stifled Soundwave's abilities, but upon the moment of his emergence, he became the single most powerful mech aboard this ship.

With Starscream's exception, of course. Nowadays, Soundwave answered to him.

With that in mind, Starscream carefully levered himself up from the medical berth where he slept. Taking a moment to calibrate his balance gyros, he treated his reflection in the silent, unplugged monitors to a devious smirk, and tiptoed to the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Knock Out napped on the berth in the corner of the medbay proper. That gave Starscream pause. As Chief Medical Officer on the Decepticon flagship, Knock Out had the privilege of quarters to call his own - although he had shared them with Breakdown, until the mech's demise.

They were located just a few paces down the corridor. Hardly a long way to travel. Ratchet hadn’t claimed them – the Autobots seemed to prefer bedding down together, in an empty communal drone hangar. They were evidently accustomed to close-quarter living.

In short, Starscream could see no reason why Knock Out would fall into recharge at his work station – unless, of course, he’d gotten into the habit during those first fraught cycles after Starscream’s run-in with the Predacons, when every intake could’ve been his last.

Or he just wanted to ensure the Autobots didn’t discover the stash of polish and cherry-red paint Starscream knew he hid beneath a loose panel on the wall. Yes, that was the more likely option.

Knock Out snored.

Just faintly – a grumbly wheeze on the ex-vent. It scratched at Starscream’s audials as he pussyfooted across the floor, placing each step carefully to minimize the _click_ of his heeled pedes.

A smile snuck onto his face without his permission. Starscream forced it away – then reassessed.

He wasn’t grinning out of _amusement –_ Primus, no!

Obviously, he revelled in Knock Out’s _vulnerability_. It would be so easy to sneak up on him like this, out cold on the berth, deep in dreamland. Mangle his precious paintwork, slit his energon lines…

Yes, Starscream told himself. His smile was not borne of fondness at all.

Soon, he and Soundwave would soon leave this fallen warship. It would recede away, far behind them, evaporating from their sensors like contrails on a hot summer’s day. Then, once Shockwave had brought the Predacons to heel and constructed another batch of seeker-lite drones to serve as his new armada, Starscream would fly back. He would stake his claim over the _Nemesis_ , and this world alongside. 

If Knock Out stood in his way, Starscream would blast him out of it.  _B_ _ang-bang,_ straight through the spark.

On that day, he told himself, he would harbour zero regrets.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The door glided open, anticipating his approach to the bridge. The Decepticon third-in-command - second now - had taken up residence on the suspended command deck, ensconced in a web of wires. Every five seconds, the faint _ping_ of the deepspace hail beacon reverberated from the walls.

Lights fluttered back and forth along Soundwave’s tentacles. Regular, pulsating. It reminded Starscream of the bioluminescent creatures their science department had dredged from the oceanic trenches back on Earth. Still, he found the rhythm far preferable to that blasted SOS.

"Fools." He chuckled, low and devious. "Permitting you to man the Bridge alone."

A faint whimper emanated from the corner. Starscream looked over - only to find an unconscious Smokescreen, a new dent in his helm courtesy of where Soundwave had bashed him off the wall. 

"Oh," said Starscream. They _had_ left a guard. They'd just made the all-too-easy mistake of underestimating Soundwave.

Starscream did not intend to copy them. "Excellent work, my soldier!" he declared.

_Ping._

"We have control of this ship. We can reclaim the _Nemesis_ for ourselves."

_Ping._

"We shall once more remind our species of why Decepticons are the true rulers of -"

_Ping._

"Could you _please_ stop doing that while we're talking?"

… _Ping._

Soundwave didn't look at him. All in all, it gave Starscream a rather discomforting sense of déjà vu.

How many times had Megatron dictated his plans to Soundwave, the pair of them communicating over Starscream’s helm as if he were a puling sparkling? As if he didn’t exist?

"I don't see how it's too much to ask," he muttered.

_Ping._

"Just lock the Autobots in their cabins, finish that irksome blue mechling, turn off the human life support, and there you have it! The _Nemesis,_ as she ought to be. Under _my_ command."

_Ping._

Starscream sighed. " _Our_ command."

_Ping._

Starscream raked his claws over his helm. "Look," he said, trying to reason. "If you're not going to take over the ship, will you at least accompany me on my journey to regroup with Shockwave?"

_Ping._

Ugh. "You're _insufferable._ "

_Ping._

Starscream flexed his claws. "I swear, Soundwave, if you ping _one more time,_ I'll..."

Soundwave's blank visor swung around to appraise him. _Ping,_ went the signal.

Starscream never got the chance put his unformulated threat into action, because it was at that moment that someone replied.

"Intriguing. And here I believed that my old Warship had fallen to the Autobots."

Starscream tensed. His body reacted of its own accord: a full-body flinch that set his wings rattling and his last, bland meal of low-grade churning in his tank.

Why, of all the mechs drifting about the chasms of deepspace? Why did it have to be…

“M-Megatron?”

There could be no mistake about it. Who else possessed such a voice – such a deep, reverberant tessitura, always on the cusp of a snarl? A voice that had commanded thousands, started a war and – several millennia later – ended it? A voice that chased Starscream through the best and worst of his dreams?

After Megatron left Cybertron, Starscream had dared to pray he’d never hear that voice again. However, now he was forced to admit that a part of him had never truly believed it. If death and Dark Energon failed to keep Megatron away from him, why should retirement?

But surely the cosmos owed Starscream more than _one damn Lunar Cycle_ before this bucket-helmed afthole barged back into his life.

“Turn it off,” he snapped at Soundwave. “We’re scanning for returning Cybertronians, not mechs fleeing the consequences of their actions.”

“Ah, Starscream.” How he _detested_ that darkly amused tone. “It seems not even my desertion of Cyberton is enough to escape you.”

Starscream ground his dentae. “Then by all means, keep flying.”

“I intend to.” Starscream heard the gentle hum of meteorites shattering over sturdy wings, set against the pure silence of deepspace. “I no longer have a place on Cybertron. So long as my pedes strike the steel surface of our world, this war can know no end.”

The _arrogance!_ As if Megatron was the sole embodiment of the cause! As if their contributions – _Starscream’s_ contributions – meant nothing!

“There will be no peace,” Starscream snarled, “so long as I am Leader of the Decepticons!”

“The Decepticons are over.” There was no visual feed – it wasn’t as if Megatron had a camera in the vicinity. Just that grave, booming voice, echoing from the walls, omnipresent. Surrounding Starscream, bombarding him from all directions with the implicit demand that he sit down, shut up, behave.

Starscream had never been good at following orders. Not without the threat of a fist above him.

And right now? Well. The read-out on the comm relays informed him Megatron was several lightyears centrewards, towards the supermassive that gobbled up stars in the galaxy’s core. Ergo, Starscream was well out of punching range.

He drew himself up. “Not so long as I live.”

Soundwave’s head tilted to one side: a silent consideration. Starscream hardly cared.

“You don’t get to control this,” he said, addressing the blank monitor. His servos were tight knots at his sides; his broken wings jutting shard-like from his back. “You don’t _own_ this faction, anymore.”

_You don’t own me._

“Indeed,” said Megatron, musingly. “I don’t.”

No roar of fury. No demand he rescind his words, beg for mercy. Show his Lord and Master the respect he deserved. Starscream found it quite unnerving.

His wings hiked impossibly higher. “Well – good!”

“How foolish of me, to rest before tying up every loose end.”

Starscream groaned. “If you’re not going to speak sense, you might consider not speaking at all.”

“And you, Starscream, might consider that I have little reason to return to Cybertron.” Megatron paused, the silence weighted with the same suspense that’d kept his audiences in the gladiatorial arena entranced, even after the battle was done. “ _Don’t give me one_.”

The line died before Starscream could snap that he didn’t intend to.

“Fragger,” he spat, just because he could. “Well, I for one am _glad_ he has no further interest in my world. Our one-time _Lord and Master_ is quite welcome to jet off to the far side of the galaxy and _rust in peace_!”

The violet lights undulated along Soundwave’s feelers. Starscream shook his head once more at the blank communications screen, then turned on his supposed second.

“As for _you…_ Well, perhaps I was unclear. When I told you that _I_ am Leader of the Decepticons, I meant that _you_ follow _my_ orders. You submit to _my_ will. You slaughter Autobots when I _tell_ you to slaughter Autobots, and you certainly do _not_ ring our less-than-illustrious former leader without _express permission!_ Do you understand?”

Soundwave unplugged his tendrils from the consoles, reeling them back into his chest. He extracted himself from his nest of glowing tubes. The lights died, and the wiring began its slow furl back behind the panels of the _Nemesis._

“Do you understand?” echoed Starscream, weaker, as Soundwave trotted past Smokescreen, leaving the young mech sprawled on his belly, groaning as his processor struggled to calibrate around its new ding. “ _I_ am in charge here. Not you. And _certainly_ not Meg –“

“The Decepticons are over _,”_ Soundwave replayed.

Starscream had never been so sorely tempted to beat his head on the wall. “Oh, _Primus_. Not you, too.”

“I have little reason to return to Cybertron,” continued Megatron’s voice, distorted by feedback from Soundwave’s vocaliser. _“_ Don’t give me one. _”_

Starscream crossed his arms. “Yes, yes; I was there. I was _listening._ Just – enough _cryptic copycatting._ Tell me what you mean!”

Soundwave observed him, klikkas stretching to joors in Starscream’s mind. When he next spoke, it was with that awful, grating voice of his, used so infrequently it had devolved into monotonous garble, barely a scratch above binary: “Soundwave: follows Megatron _._ ”

“No!” Starscream hated the crack in that word, how it shattered in his throat. “No, you _said_! You said _I_ was Lord of the Decepticons!”

“Starscream _,_ ” decreed Soundwave, “Lord of nothing.”

Then he turned and loped for the door.

No!

Starscream couldn’t let him go. How dare Soundwave, after all this time, still choose Megatron over him? The mad warlord, who had plunged dark energon into his own chassis?

(Oh, admittedly, Starscream had tried that trick too – but Unicron never manifested for _him._ Dismissed, sidelined, ignored – even by the Chaos Bringer himself!)

The indignity was too great. Starscream couldn’t – wouldn’t – stand for it.

“Soundwave,” he barked, injecting authority into his voice. “You will stop this _instant_! You will assist me in my conquering of the Autobot force!”

Soundwave kept walking. He didn’t glance back.

Fury rattled up Starscream’s spinal strut. “Get _back_ here!”

Soundwave did the opposite.

He left Starscream with only one option. As Smokescreen, moaning, finally blinked his optics back online, Starscream flung himself at his treacherous Second in Command with an audial-splitting shriek.

 

* * *

 

 

It was, in hindsight, not one of his better plans.

Which was to say that Starscream cycled back into consciousness with a charged blaster buzzing against his helm.

“Frag,” he mumbled. “Not again.”

Though the words made perfect sense in his head, they lost it by the time they reached his audials. Like that time Megatron bit the tip off his glossa after Starscream called him ‘buckethelm’ in the berth.

How peculiar.

“I think he’s coming around,” said someone, from nearby.

Starscream agreed, though he wasn’t best pleased about it. He recalibrated his fuzzy processor until the image before him ceased acting like runny liquid and consolidated into hard-and-fast shapes.

The Autobots, his captors, stood arrayed around the Bridge, their color schemes optic-achingly garish against the  _Nemesis’s_ gloom. Arcee – of course – had bagsied guard duty. Meanwhile, Smokescreen suffered under Ratchet’s less-then-tender care, the old medic swatting his shoulder when he attempted to stand.

“Lie  _still!_ Hammering dents from skull plates is delicate business!”

Starscream heard groaning. It took a few moments for him to realize he was the source.

He reached up, hunting for the strange sense of  _emptiness_ around his head region, but the blaster smacked him away. “Hands by your sides.”

“Thank you, Arcee,” said Knock Out, from overhead. “I’m almost done, and it’s best if he stays still.”

The femme glowered at Starscream. “Trust me. I’m not doing it out of concern for his wellbeing.”

“ _He_ has a designation,” Starscream meant to snap, but it came out nonsensical as sparkling-speak.

“Oh, psh." Knock Out waved a servo. "I’m sure you two will one day undergo a beautiful bonding montage where you save one another’s lives.”

Starscream and Arcee looked at each other, then at Knock Out, in disbelief.

The medic shrugged. “It always seems that way, in human films. Never mind. There, skull-plates reattached.” A  _click_ from above. “Try speaking again, Starscream?”

Starscream reset his vocalizer. “Frag off.”

“There we go!” Knock Out patted his shoulder. “All better. Sounders  _did_ do quite a number on you and Smokescreen – the way your helm was dented, you’re lucky it didn’t permanently damage your vocal processing core!”

“Oh no,” said Arcee, monotonous. “What a terrible thing that would be.”

Knock Out shook his head. “You two, honestly. Your reconciliation arc cannot come soon enough.”

Arcee reared back. “There can be no reconciliation. Not with Cliffjumper’s energon on his claws.”

Knock Out sighed. “I supposed I  _did_ torment Silas my science lab for several months, after what he did to poor Breakdown…” His optics flicked down to Starscream; there was that wicked grin. “Not that I want to give you any ideas, Arcee.”

Starscream shrugged him off, struggling to sit. Arcee jumped back, transformed arm still levelled at his helm. “Careful, con.”

“Please don’t shoot that right after I fixed it. Here.” Knock Out offered Starscream a hand. “Let’s get you back to the medbay before you incite murderous rage in anyone else.”

“Woah, woah.” Bumblebee hurried forwards, hands out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“The medbay, like I said." Knock Out patted Starscream on the shoulder. Starscream, still struggling to calibrate his balance systems, was too distracted to shrug him off. "Starscream’s wings have almost finished synthesising, and rewiring one of those fiddly monstrosities is a nightmare. I’d rather start sooner than later.”

“Afraid not. We need to know what went down here.” The scout nodded to the communications relay, unharmed and innocuous, not a single scratch to show Soundwave’s defilement. “He wiped the record, but we can tell he sent out numerous off-world pings after he gave Smokescreen that new ding in his bonnet. Who was he trying to contact?”

“Megatron,” said Starscream, then regretted it, since everyone fell silent in a very awed sort of way. He rubbed up and down his arms, processor still swimming through the memories.

That was right.  _Megatron._

That deep, thick bass growl of a voice, trembling up Starscream’s heel struts, like it used to when the Warlord ran those giant claws perilously close to his vital lines, rumbling his name as he tilted his face up to –

Nope. Too far back. Starscream shook his helm until his memory banks stopped spurting unrequested leaks.

“Soundwave called Megatron,” he repeated, leaning ever-so-slightly on Knock Out. Only for the purposes of staying upright, of course. “Why, I am uncertain.”

“To bring him back,” suggested Wheeljack, mashing one fist into the opposite servo. “To restart the war –“

“No. I don’t think – I don’t know.” His helm hurt. Just faintly, but with growing relevance. Whatever painkiller Knock Out had given him, it was wearing off.

“Then why?” asked Bulkhead. “Soundwave doesn’t seem like the short to just… check-up.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “Soundwave’s motives, as usual, are his own.” His optics fixed on Starscream. “What I cannot work out, if he left to rejoin Megatron, is why he didn’t take you with him.”

_Starscream: Lord of Nothing._

All of a sudden, Starscream felt very tired.

“Because Megatron no longer holds any passion for the Decepticon cause. Because my wings are broken. Because Soundwave doesn’t enjoy my scintillating company. Please, pick one. I’m still working it out myself.” He turned to Bumblebee. “Does that satisfy your interrogation?”

“Watch how you talk to Magnus, Con,” snapped Wheeljack. Fine words, coming from the poster-boy for disrespecting your superiors.

Really, Starscream decided, the only mercy was that the humans had yet to join in the squawking. He didn’t need  _more_ of a helm-ache.

“Hey,” said Rafael. Ugh, Starscream spoke too soon. “What’s this?”

The squishies inhabited their usual wire-framed mezzanine, which had been elevated up to the point where they could nosy at the comm console Soundwave had been plugged into. This gave them the optimal view of the flashing beacon that had popped onto the  _Nemesis's_  main screen.

“A hail,” breathed Arcee. Then, louder – “It’s a hail!” She sprung away from Starscream, retransforming her blaster into a hand - although it stayed clenched in a tight fist. “And it's coming from offworld!”

Starscream grimaced. Megatron had better not be redialing.

Bumblebee darted to the console. He hit the  _accept transmission_ button. It wasn’t the Warlord’s scarred old mug that filled the screen, but rather the faceplates of a juvenile red-and-orange bot, one Starscream didn’t recognize.

“Uh,” said the new mech. “Hi.”

The first communication with another colony, after a thousand years, and  _that_ was the best icebreaker he could come up with?

Starscream sighed. _Mechlings._

“Hi,” said Bumblebee. Smokescreen waggled his fingers in a wave.

Honestly, they were all as bad as each other.

Thankfully, Magnus took over. “This is Ultra Magnus of the Autobots, hailing you from Cybertron’s surface. Did you receive our transmission?”

“The one you sent last night?”

“Soundwave must’ve boosted the signal,” murmured Knock Out in Starscream’s audial. As if he couldn’t work that one out for himself! “How…  _benevolent._ ”

“How uncharacteristic, more like,” said Arcee. “He must’ve had some ulterior motive.” She glared at the screen. “Are you Autobot, or Decepticon?”

Starscream’s wings twitched. Was it possible? Had Soundwave actually gifted him a boon – an incoming army of Decepticons, to bend unto his new rule?

“Neither!” The mech looked offended at the concept. “I’m Hot Rod, of the neutral colonies!”

Starscream sagged. It seemed he wasn’t alone in his disappointment.

“Neutrals,” spat Wheeljack. “Cowards, more like. Couldn’t even choose a side…”

Ratchet’s head snapped up towards him; he readied his wrench. “Cybertron is home to  _all_ of our kind. Autobot, Decepticon, otherwise. That is the truth Optimus sacrificed himself to show us.” Then, to the mechling, who was wondering aloud whether Wheeljack would recognise the  _fist_  of a coward when it came flying towards his faceplates at high speed: “The war is over. Affiliations no longer matter. You and your colony are welcome.”

“Um,” said Starscream, raising a claw with full intention of reminding them that the war continued, and the Decepticon faction was still very much at-large.

Arcee charged her blaster. He let his claw drop again.

“On second thoughts… never mind.”

"Yeah," said Arcee, smirking. "That's what I thought."

“Well?” Magnus asked, as Hot Rod dithered. “Are you going to tell your superiors?”

“I – yes. But… You said Optimus sacrificed himself? You mean… Optimus  _Prime_?”

“Yes,” said Magnus, gravely. “The age of Primes is over. A new era, a peaceful era, has begun.”

What utter nonsense. Starscream scoffed.

“With your permission,” he said, with a sidelong sneer at Arcee, “I will return to the medbay. I have better things to do with my time than to listen to enemies and cowards – such as having my new wings fitted.”

“Wings?” said Hot Rod. He moved closer, squinting to get a better look at Starscream – his monitor must be on the small side. His blue gaze honed on the shreds protruding from Starscream's back. “Those things are  _wings?_ I thought they were some really kitschy fashion statement!”

Those 'things' dipped behind Starscream as if they didn’t want to be seen. He forced them up again, tattered and hideous though they were. “What’s it to you?” he snapped.

The bot leaned forwards, his nasal chevron almost bumping the camera. “You’re a  _Seeker_?”

“Clearly, you excel at frame recognition.”

"Dammit." This -  _Hot Rod_ (what a ridiculous designation!) - crossed his arms. "Well, that sucks."

There was an awkward silence. Starscream mimicked the mech's posture. “Do you have a problem with my frametype?”

“Huh?” Hot Rod blinked. Then his eyes widened. “No! No, no-no-no. I’m so totally cool with winged aerial-types – half my friends are Seekers!"

"Half... your friends?" That couldn't be right.

"Yeah! And they're gonna be  _so_ smug if they outnumber us grounders."

"Great," muttered Ratchet. "More allies for Starscream. Just what we need."

The young mech’s eyes grew huge. “Wait, what? Your designation... is Starscream?"

Starscream tapped a claw on his arm. His helm still thrummed, both from Soundwave's attack, and from this revelation, which had fallen so easily from this mech's lips.

It had been foolish, to assume that in all the wide cosmos, there wasn’t a single fellow aerial model who had survived the war. But to have it  _confirmed?_  To have  _multiple Seekers_ converging on Cybertron?

It sent a shiver through Starscream’s broken wings. He couldn't tell if it was delight or panic.

Easy to declare yourself Winglord, after all, when your only competition was drones.

"What of it?" he snapped.

"Second in command of the Decepticon army?  _That_ Starscream?”

Starscream puffed up. Clearly, his reputation preceded him. “First in command, nowadays.”

“Huh.” The mech sounded disappointed. “Thought you’d be bigger.”

A snarl laced Starscream's ex-vents. “Please, allow me to retrieve the Apex Armor before you say that to my face...”

“Nuh-uh!” shouted Miko. “That’s mine!”

Starscream spun on her with a hiss of offence. “You  _stole_  it from me!”

“I  _won_ it,” Miko corrected. “Fair and square.”

“That makes no  _sense!_ There was nothing  _square_ about it!”

Hot Rod peered at the edge of the screen, eyeballing the fleshlings. “What are  _those_? Organic pets?”

“Humans,” said Fowler.

“ _Friends_.” Bulkhead shuffled between Starscream and Miko with a pointed glare. “Family. You’ll meet ‘em, when you touch down.”

“Cute." Hot Rod shrugged, evidently not too interested, and looked towards Magnus once more. "Well, I’ll go tell the colonists the good news. If Starscream’s on your side, it means the war really  _is_ over!”

Starscream couldn’t let  _that_ one slide. Especially not after last night’s conversation with Megatron.

He would rise, where the old mech failed. He would accomplish everything his so-called  _Master_ couldn’t, and with far greater finesse! He would bring Cybertron to heel, under Decepticon command!  _His_ command!

“My presence here is only under duress," he snapped. "Of that, I can assure you.”

“Enough.” Magnus gestured sharply at Knock Out. “Get him out of here.”

Starscream snorted. “So  _now_ you want me to leave?”

Knock Out helpfully slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the next slew of vituperative accusations. “Sounds like a plan. Come along now, Starscream! Your wings await.”

And that, it seemed, was that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are, as always, appreciated. As are kudos! x


	9. In which Starscream fucks up (as usual)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does what it says on the tin...

Starscream’s processor churned as Knock Out arranged him on the medbay pallet, guiding him to lay on his belly so that the doctor might enjoy unreserved access to his wretched excuses for wings.

“I didn’t want to amputate,” Knock Out said, manipulating them gently upwards to clamp the connective wires at their base. “I figured if you had some remaining sensors, it would be best for your mental state to let them remain, to maximize tactile wind-stimulation.”

Starscream sniffed. “My mental state is exemplary.”

“I’d laugh, but by your standards, anything below fully-fledged paranoia counts as a good day.” Knock Out glanced at him from the corner of his optics. “You’re definitely far calmer than usual. I mean, I haven’t heard you crow once about how you’re going to conquer Cybertron with your new aerial army!”

Starscream made no reply.

Knock Out grimaced. “On second thoughts, that’s actually pretty concerning. Are you quite alright?”

Starscream's tattered winglets drooped, then defiantly flared up again. At the very least, he decided, by the time the other seekers landed, he would be fully functional. Ready to face any challenges that came his way.

"Just mend my wings, doctor," he muttered. "That's what you're here for."

Knock Out made several huffy noises to the tune of 'ungrateful glitch' under his breath, but he injected the requisite sensory-dampeners into Starscream's open medical port and complied.

He kept yammering while he worked. About nothing in particular; this and that; recharging energon deposits, reports of a scraplet nest over yonder (Starscream made a mental memo to avoid those coordinates, once he struck out alone); the success Rafael had had in converting space bridge tech into a miniaturized, and far less energon-hungry format that allowed the pesky fleshlings to come and go as they pleased. The incessant natter usually ground down on Starscream’s nervous relays, but today, he found it somewhat... Soothing. A pleasant reminder of how things had once been: himself, in the medbay for some reason or another, listening to the doctor's gossip.

Why, it was almost... Soporific…

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"There we go! Good as new.”

Starscream jerked. Onlining protocols filled his processor.

It took him a moment to orientate himself. Once he'd gotten his bearings, he wished he could relinquish them again.

How shameful. The gentle rove of Knock Out's hands over his desensitized wings had lulled him into recharge.

As if the medic were a flockmate. As if he were _trine._

Knock Out clapped, the sharp noise distracting Starscream from his self-directed scowling. “A stellar job, if I do say so! Why, Starscream; I do believe I’ve outdone myself."

Starscream reset his vocalizer. When he spoke, it was at the bottom of his register, gravelled and deep. “Considering the usual quality of your repairs, doctor, that’s hardly worth the boast.”

While Knock Out whined that he’d like Starscream to find a medic who possessed _more_ experience at repairing a lightweight Seeker frametype, Starscream let his processor hone on the familiar weight upon his back.

His sensory net was not yet functioning. Of course, if it _had_ been, Knock Out’s earlier touches wouldn’t have coaxed him into slumber. In fact, such intimate fondlings might have run the risk of stimulating something _else_ entirely.

But Knock Out, for all his flaws (of which Starscream could list many) did keep an iota of propriety in his spark. Just one, and tucked very deep down – but nevertheless, it was enough that his touch had never strayed from professional boundaries.

Starscream decided not to process why that might _disappoint_ him.

"I'll be the judge of your handiwork," he snapped, swinging his new legs off the side of the berth. His patellae spikes narrowly avoided his physician – who sprung backwards, defence of his finish, as always, at the forefront of his mind.

"Careful there, Starscream! Might be a bit off-balance while they're numbed... Here." He danced behind Starscream – less chance of being kicked, involuntarily or otherwise – and tugged the cord from his medical port. Starscream swore each metallic vertebrae of his spine quivered independently.

_Ah._

He could _feel them_.

Life: glorious, exultant, glittering in every relay, every circuit. They were back - they were truly back! Wings; _his_ wings!

He was _whole_ again.

Starscream purred, rolling his shoulder joints. His wings followed the motion, exacerbating it to its fullest extent. They flexed and splayed, pressing tight together so they protruded perpendicular to his back, then swivelled again to flare out wide.

"Any stiffness?" Knock Out inquired, wiping lubricant off his servos on a subspace-cloth. "I gave you a good oiling, but it might still take a while to work your way back to full flight flexibility." He dipped an eyelid in a lascivious wink. "I am, of course, happy to assist..."

So much for that iota of propriety.

But Knock Out’s vulgarity couldn’t wipe the beam from Starscream's faceplates. He stood, finding his balance with far more ease upon his slim pedes now that he had his wings to stabilize him from the rear. Once confident he could walk without inelegant flapping, Starscream strode for the doors of the surgical room.

"Uh," said Knock Out. "Where do you think you're going?"

Like he even needed to ask. "A flight, of course."

Knock Out groaned. "Starscream, look. How many times have I put your wings back on? You should know better! At least give yourself a breem to re-acclimatize your  new parts with your neural net. You know, like we did with your legs?"

Starscream heard the sense in his words. If he desired to maximise his airborne capabilities before these new seekers made groundfall... Well, nose-diving wouldn't do him any favours.

Still, his wings twitched towards the breeze stirred by the fan. It was tempting to ignore Knock Out, to sprint to the top deck and fling himself to the wind with wild abandon.

 _Oh_ , so tempting...

But no. Long-term recuperation demanded _restraint_.

Starscream heaved a sigh. “Very well,” he said, strutting back to the examination table and perching on the edge, as if it had been his idea to start with. “I permit you to continue your assistance.”

Knock Out dipped into a mocking bow. “How generous.”

“You need all the experience you can get, before these neutral cowards land.”

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that it gave Starscream an excuse to have Knock out take his wings in hand again – this time, with the sensors online.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They'd done this before. Many, many times.

Starscream’s wings were a favourite target, whether in battle againt 'bots or by the barbarian he once called _Lord._ They'd suffered brutal tortion, twisted at the joint, halved with a slash of Megatron’s arm blade. In one particularly gruelling punishment session, they'd even been dipped in a smelting pit with Starscream still attached. Running from his back in hot liquid rivulets, while he begged and pleaded and, when all else failed, _screamed..._

Anyway. While Starscream had never known _how_ his wings might be rendered useless next, there had always been one thing he could count upon. After every torment, deserved or otherwise, Knock Out would be there to put him back together again.

This... this was no different. It had no _reason_ to be.

So why...?

Starscream sat on the berth, facing away from his medic. Perhaps it was because he couldn't _see_ him? Perhaps he was... just imagining that Knock Out was someone, anyone else! A seeker. Megatron, in the old days, when the fire between them held more passion than wrath. When the thought of dipping his second in a smelter, no matter his treacheries, would make the old gladiator recoil...

_Starscream: Lord of Nothing._

Starscream shuddered, ignoring Knock Out's grunt of dismay as his wings slapped his hands.

No. He didn't think that way of Megatron. Not for a long time; not anymore.

The point was, there were a myriad of reasons for _why_ Starscream's spark pulsed almost as sweetly as his wing sensors, as Knock Out carefully stretched out his primary left and ran light fingers along the trailing edge of the secondary interior. Starscream intended to entertain every single one of them before he even _dreamed_ it might have something to do with the medic himself.

In the end, he just gripped the edge of the berth and bore it, responding to Knock Out's quiet questions ("How many digits are on your right secondary? Where am I touching your left primary? Rotate the left secondary up and the primary down, as much as you can in opposing directions.") in a monotone.

By the time the medic declared him flight-ready ("Short and steady. I mean it, Starsceram - no fancy tricks!") that delectable tingle had suffused outwards, tickling at his arms and his legs – not to mention what lay between them. Starscream did the sensible thing: which was to say that he pressed his knees together, and pictured Quintessons until everything cooled off.

Luckily, while Knock Out could be counted on to put the move on anything with wheels - or wings, as the case may be - he was no telepath. He remained oblivious to Starscream's predicament.

"I want you back here in a joor," he said, patting his thruster. "Just to check your transformation sequence hasn't knocked anything out of alignment."

Starscream nodded. He slid off the berth once more, onto legs that felt significantly wobblier. It took a measure of willpower to make them behave.

He intended to head straight for the flight deck – yet he paused a moment - just briefly - on the threshold. The most foolish notion had just crossed his processor. A witless whimsy, nothing more – the sort of thought he'd scoff at, were it voiced by any outside of his own helm.

And yet, Starscream couldn’t quite bring himself to dismiss it.

Was he really going to do this? Would he really let such pathetic sentiments curl off his glossa?

For _Knock Out?_

 _Wow,_ drawled a voice in the back of his processor. It sounded annoyingly like a certain purple-painted Trinemate. _Way to be a big bad Decepticon, Screamy. Scared of saying a simple ‘thank you’?_

Starscream pinched his lipplates shut. As if he’d let that long-dead idiot assume the role of his _conscience_. He was Starscream, Aerial Commander (unless one of the incoming Seekers challenged him for the title), Lord of the Decepticons (if he could find any) and future King of Cybertron (if only in his dreams)! He didn’t need one of those.

"Starscream?" The medic stepped forwards, still wiping his claws. "Do your wings hurt? I’ve got plenty more oil. Come back here; lets run through the basic mobilisations again."

Starscream knew exactly what he _wanted_ to say. That trapped _thank you,_ stuck in his throat like a lump of unprocessed energon.

It just… wasn't what came out.

"For the last time,” he hissed, “I am _perfectly_ fine!"

Knock Out's hands closed in a fist, then dropped back to his side. "Right."

Starscream did his utmost not to think about how those same hands, until a breem ago, had been gently palpating his winglets. "I only lingered to inform you that I have stomached enough coddling for one day!”

“My _coddling_ is the only reason you can walk, let alone fly.” Curious; Starscream hadn’t realised how _genuine_ Knock Out’s smirk had been, up until this point, when it morphed into something cold and unfeeling, with just a narrowing of his red eyes. “I would tell you to practice some gratitude, Starscream, but you have demonstrated time and time again that you do not know the meaning of the word.”

Starscream scoffed. “Please! How can you lecture _me_ about gratitude?"

Knock Out arched a brow. "Oh? Go on, do tell. _This_ ought to be good."

Starscream was only too happy to comply. "Perhaps you are forgetting, _dear doctor,_ that _I_ did not leave you to the mercies of that rampaging beast we unleashed on the drones."

"The beast  _you_ created," drawled Knock Out. "Against my advisement. Anyway, you were swift enough to pin blame on me as soon as Megatron got involved."

Starscream's cheeks heated. "Yes, well! I'm sure I've saved your sorry finish _countless_ times -"

"Almost as many as you've scratched it. I _do_ keep count, you know."

Starscream puffed up. "Well," he sputtered, "I _was_ the one to fly to Breakdown’s aide, unprompted, after he let himself be captured by those savage human scientists!"

Knock Out jerked, like he'd been slapped.

Ah - a fault in his defences! Starscream, with the preternatural accuracy of a jet sparked with targeting missile-locks, honed in on it.

"Really, _you_ ought to thank _me_ ," he purred. _"_ I’m the only reason Breakdown wasn’t made into Silas’s puppet to begin with! _You_ certainly weren't around to pull our poor, late compatriot out of that ghastly fleshling lab!”

Knock Out’s expression flattened. Smoothed like it’d been ground off on a sander. He gazed at Starscream, faceplates inscrutable.

Then he turned away.

“Right," he said, again. His voice was as flat as his expression. "Well, don’t let my concern for your wellbeing keep you from your flight.”

Starscream sneered. Honestly. _Concern_ was nothing but an allegation of weakness. He was offended that Knock Out thought him in need of it.

“I’m going now,” he said, just to have the last word.

Knock Out made no acknowledgement. That was alright. It simply meant that Starscream had won.

Yet somehow... It didn't quite _feel_ that way.

Starscream's mood soured, the further he retreated from the medbay. This was mostly out of frustration, for the part of him that wanted to return there, and - what? Continue their one-sided discussion on the meaning of gratitude? Demand the medic continue his ministrations on his wings? Maybe even stutter out a proper _thank you?_

No. Preposterous.

He stomped all the way to the flight deck. His scowl was so fierce that even Wheeljack didn’t dare needle him, when they passed one another on the way.

In the end, the only address came from far below his sightline.

“I see you have your wings back.”

Starscream deemed this obvious; he saw no reason to merit it with a reply. He was halfway along the corridor that punctured the canteen and continued on to the central elevator shaft; the human must’ve emerged from one of the break rooms the fleshies were using to contact their government back on Earth.

Perhaps, if he ignored it long enough, it would go away? No sense in not trying.

With that thought in mind, Starscream kept walking.

The human failed to take the hint. It scampered beside him, trying to keep pace. “Now what, ‘Con? Gonna conduct an aerial attack? Strafe us from above? Was this your plan all along?”

Starscream rolled his eyes. With what weaponry? His missiles had been confiscated; his blasters were offline. If he wanted to cause damage to the _Nemesis,_ his best bet would be a crash-landing, and as satisfying as the damage would be, it wouldn't be worth the cost to his plating.

Starscream quickened his stride. The human had no hope of keeping up, even if it dropped to all fours.

“Silent treatment?” it yelled at his back. “Yeah, real mature!”

The exercise took its toll; it was already puffing. Interestingly, it didn’t stop. Military training, Starscream supposed.

“Hey! You’re still technically our prisoner, you know. Where d’you think you’re going?”

It was tenacious; Starscream had to give it that.

“Out,” he grated. He reached the lift at the end of the corridor, and slammed the _close_ panel behind the slide-out door.

Unfortunately, even without Soundwave tossing spanners – or tentacles – into the _Nemesis’s_ inner workings, the ship still operated on low power. Judging by the amount of equipment being relocated from Earth, the Autobots intended to resume mining operations as soon as possible. For now, however, the doors of the lift shut rather more sluggishly than Starscream was accustomed to.

This gave the wheezing, gasping human ample time to catch up.

Starscream flared his wings. “Oh, no. You’re not coming.”

“Wow,” wheezed the human. It slipped between the closing doors and folded to brace its hands against its knees. “That’s my cardio for the year.” It lifted its brown face to Starscream. “As for you… Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Its dark eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong; not had anyone to torture recently? Poor ‘Con.”

Starscream scoffed. “You know _nothing_ about what it means to be a Decepticon.” He planted one servo on his hip. “And, for your information, I have _other_ means of stress relief besides tormenting little fleshbags. One of which being flight, which you are keeping me from putting into practice. Perhaps you’d be so _kind_ as to step back out of the lift, before I go fetch my electrical prod instead?”

“Hey, someone needs to keep tabs on you.” The human glared at him from the corner of its eye. “And it’s not ‘fleshbag.’ It’s _Fowler._ ”

“Well, _Fowler._ ” Starscream scowled as the last thin slice of the corridor was eaten by the doors, which sealed together with an aerated whistle. “How do you propose to stop me from whatever dastardly misdeeds you think me capable of?”

“I’ll improvise. Kinda what humans are best at.”

“I should hope so. Your physical feats leave much to be desired.” Starscream raised a brow ridge; the man had yet to catch his breath. “So much ex-venting… Is your thermoregulator broken?”

“Thermo-what-now?”

“Oh, yes. Humans aren’t nearly so sophisticated.” Starscream shook his head. “ _Organics._ So _primitive_.”

Fowler tapped his chin. “Seem to remember a group of us _primitives_ stealing your oh-so-sophisticated T-Cog...”

"And I seem to remember executing a number of you when we torched your precious town of _Jasper._ "

"Please. We evacuated in good time." Fowler smirked. "And Darkmount turned out to be more... Dark-mound-of-rubble, in the end."

Starscream glared at his reflection in the doors. “What a shame it would be," he mused, "were I to accidentally lose my balance and step on you.”

The human snorted, but - mercifully - shut its mouth.

 _Finally –_ the magnets within the lift shaft flipped their polarities, catapulting them towards the _Nemesis’s_ flightdeck. Up they went, towards the wide apricot stretch of the Cybertronian sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sorry it's been so long! Schedule is hell, etc. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Comments + Kudos = Love

**Author's Note:**

> **I hope you enjoyed this! I won't continue this unless there are comments and kudos, so please do leave them - even just one-word comments are treasured! Thank you to everyone who reads.**


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